Game of Survival Book 1: Chances, Love, and the Hunt
by AngelDesaray
Summary: Deja Floy has spent her life full of secrets on the road, telling herself it's better for her to be alone. But when two brothers in an Impala cross her path, Deja finds herself quickly pulled into their roller-coaster lives. Will she lose everything, or will she be able to keep her sense of self and the green eyed Winchester she's tried so hard to distance for her sake and his.
1. Prologue

My name is Deja Floy. My mother was Varena Floy, my father was David Floy, before they were killed—but that's not the story that I'm here to tell right now.

I've lived in this world for twenty-four years, and not one moment of it has been normal. I don't think normal even truly exists, if I'm being honest with myself.

I won't take up too much of your time before hearing this story, I promise—there are more important things than the introduction and the basics. Still, you should at least know what I look like.

My hair is platinum blonde, pale enough it could be mistaken as being white in some lighting, and I was blessed with bright, vivid turquoise eyes that have more blue in them than green. I've got a full lower lip and the coveted natural cupid's bow on my upper lip, and they're naturally rosy lips too, thank you very much. I'm five foot nine with long legs, light fair skin with a pink undertone, and a slight hourglass frame.

I know I'm beautiful, I hear that all the time, but I don't care—it's as much a blessing as a curse. I can't walk into a bar without someone hitting on me before I leave, and that can be pretty damn annoying when I just want a drink, and sometimes people like to get way too touchy-feely. I tend to be objectified, too—they just see a pretty girl, and there's nothing more to me in their eyes.

It also makes me a target for the things that go bump in the night—they do love to prey on pretty girls, don't they?

It's a good thing I wasn't raised to be helpless—I was raised to fight back, and that's exactly what I've been doing for years.

But, surprisingly, this story doesn't start with me—it doesn't even start at the beginning, as a matter of fact. It starts with two brothers, an Impala, and a case...


	2. Chapter 1: Something Wicked

"There's been four deaths in the past two weeks, and just last night there were three more killed. Whatever this is, it's not stopping any time soon."

Dean fidgeted in his fed suit, glancing over at Sam in the passenger seat. "Anything to connect the vics?"

"Nothing that I can see, yet. It all seems to be random…" Sam mused, brows furrowed thoughtfully.

"Well, maybe there'll be something at the crime scene," Dean mused, guiding the Impala to a smooth stop at the curb in front of the two story suburban house sporting the bright yellow caution tape. As the engine's rumble came to a stop and the pair got out of the car, Dean frowned, a question coming to mind. "Hey, how did we miss this, by the way—that's a whole lot of weird in a short period of time."

"Well, we've been busy trying to find Dad, and there is a lot of weird stuff going on right now. Not to mention travelling from the other side of the country to get here-"

"I get it," Dean said shortly, cut him off with a roll of his eyes. Sam snickered softly under his breath, though in the next moment they'd sobered, turning their attention to the case at hand as they fished out their FBI badges to get their clearance.

"Your forensics coworker is already inside—I think she was in the living room the last time I checked," the officer told them as he walked with the pair to the door.

Forensics?

Shit!

There was actual FBI here—hopefully there wasn't going to be any real agents showing up any time soon. Maybe they could still play this off.

Sam gave Dean a sidelong worried look, but Dean simply gave him a confident nod and wink, stepping through the entrance.

They were already off to a bad start with the case, it seemed. Maybe, if they had some luck for once, it wouldn't get any worse than normal.

The officer stopped them before they could get very far down the hallway, sighing. "Living room where one of the victims was is the furthest door on the left, second victim is in the kitchen at the end of the hall, third is upstairs in the bedroom, second door on the right. I hope you haven't ate yet today, boys, cause this one is grisly."

Dean watched the man make his way towards the kitchen. "You got the bedroom?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I'll check it out," Sam muttered before disappearing up the stairs. Dean headed for the living room, sticking his head around the corner and expecting perhaps a few large bloodstains on the floor and furniture.

Instead, it looked like an explosion had occurred, dark red bloodstains coating the walls and ceilings as well as every other surface in the room.

Well, every surface except for the woman crouching down at a spot of the room where a particularly large amount of blood seemed to be, looking around at the mess that had once been a person. Dean did a double-take when he saw the platinum blonde, wondering what a woman like her was doing in a place like this. Really, someone that beautiful didn't belong in the middle of something this…

...Dean accidentally kicked a stray finger entering the room…

...disturbing.

"I saw that," the woman said suddenly, drawing Dean's attention to her. "Try to watch your step, I don't think you want a piece of Mr. Joffrey hitching a ride on the bottom of your shoe."

At her warning, Dean couldn't help but check to be sure he _didn't_ have a bit of—Joffrey, did she say—clinging to him. The woman stood up and turned to face Dean, ponytail swinging slightly as she pulled off her latex gloves and fixed him with a turquoise stare—well that was an eye color you didn't see every day, and it was pretty damn stunning. "Who are you?" she asked, eyeing the standard suit Dean was wearing.

Dean flashed her his fake badge, tucking it away before she had longer to look at more than the big FBI on it. If she was FBI, he really didn't want her to have enough time to notice something off with the badge. "My partner and I are here to investigate the murders, though I'm surprised you're already here," Dean said, studying the woman a little closer. She didn't so much as flinch, though her eyes never wavered from him.

"I was already here because of the last murder—the FBI does have state of the art labs, and this string of murders…well, obviously, the best is needed for this one," she said easily, gesturing to the mess around them. She held out a hand, giving Dean a surprisingly firm handshake. He was equally surprised by the fact he felt callouses, having expected soft hands and not hands that had obviously seen some heavy-duty work. "Lanna O'Hara."

Dean fought a smirk. "As in Scarlett?"

Lanna flinched and made a face, her nose crinkling like she'd smelled something foul. "Yes, yes, I've heard it before—an unfortunate coincidence."

"I'll bet."

Lanna's eyebrows rose as she gazed at him expectantly for a moment before Dean realized he had yet to give her his alias. "Ah, right. I'm Agent Morse and my partner—who is upstairs, at the moment—is Agent Greer."

Something sparked in Lanna's eyes, and despite the fact he'd be impressed, he really hoped she hadn't recognized the names. "Really?" She bit down on rosy lips as if fighting a smile before shaking her head and falling back to seriousness. "So, Agent Morse, what can I help you with?"

Dean nodded towards the large bloodstain on the floor, relaxing when she didn't make a comment about the names. "Well, what can you tell me about our vics?"

Lanna sighed, looking down at the bloodstain. "Mr. Joffrey here _exploded_ …from the inside, based on the…splatter pattern and the fact that it's everywhere from this spot here, though there's no sign of any explosives. His wife's insides were liquefied and poured all over the floor…" Lanna shook her head, a dark look flickering across her face for a moment. "And their son upstairs, the best I can explain it is everything was liquefied but the bones. Nasty stuff."

"So, you've already seen all three scenes?" Dean asked, filing away the odd deaths in his mind under _most likely a witch_.

Lanna nodded. "Yeah, I was just getting ready to leave. Also, the time of death has been put down as the exact same for all three, and they've already started questioning friends and family about enemies and the like. If you want to know anything else, ask one of the others, most of them are in the kitchen with the wife."

As she spoke, she grabbed a small blue duffel bag Dean hadn't even noticed in a miraculously clean spot of the room, already making her way to leave. Surprised by her abruptness, Dean hurried to respond. "Hey, if we're both working this case, will I be seeing you around?"

Lanna paused at the door, mirroring the half smirk he was giving her. "Don't flirt—it's been a long day, and I had enough flirting from Mr. Overcompensating-I-Have-A-Gun-I'm-So-Suave. You're…well, more than cute, but I'm not in the mood." She paused. "But you might still see me later."

With that, she was gone, and Dean was left standing in the living room doorway where the remains of the exploded man were. Dean narrowed his eyes slightly at the now-shut front door. She'd been in a hurry to leave…

"Hey," came Sam's voice as he made his way down the steps. "Did you find anything?"

Dean pulled his thoughts away from Lanna's abrupt disappearance, turning his attention to Sam. "I just finished talking to the forensics agent. All of it sounds pretty witchy to me—mom, pop, all of it."

Sam shook his head. "I couldn't find any hex bags in the son's room—I don't think it's a witch. In fact, I didn't see anything out of place in that boy's room other than…him," Sam finished, looking disturbed. Dean frowned. Maybe he'd just missed something…

"Well, I haven't checked the living room or the kitchen yet—maybe we can still find something," Dean suggested.

"Hopefully. Otherwise, we're dealing with something worse than a witch."

* * *

"Nothing! There were no hex bags _anywhere_ in that house, no EMF, no out-of-place residue, nothing weird other than the dead people themselves. And I can't find anything in Dad's journal that would explain all the victims' deaths."

Sam glanced up from his laptop while Dean fumed, taking a sip of his drink. "Do you think it's just something we've never seen before, that Dad hasn't seen before?"

Dean swallowed another bite of his burger. They were in one of the local diners getting something to eat and quietly discussing the oddity that was their current case, Sam still trying to find some lore in some isolated corner of the internet that would match what they had seen at the house and the four prior murders.

"We'll just have to keep digging. Either it's something we haven't seen and we're going to have to tread carefully, or we somehow missed something back at the house," Dean mused.

"A little bit of all of the above," came a new voice. Dean didn't even have time to turn around before three pouches that were unmistakably hex bags were dropped onto their table and a chair squealed slightly in protest as it was dragged into place at their table between Sam and Dean. The brothers looked up in surprise as the forensics woman from earlier sat in the chair, changed into a black tank top and blue denim jacket and jeans instead of the federal suit she'd been wearing earlier.

Dean leaned back, sizing her up. "No way."

"Who's she?" Sam asked in confusion even as he picked up and inspected one of the hex bags.

"Apparently, another hunter," Dean said with a small shake of his head. "And your name is definitely not Lanna O'Hara."

"As in Scarlett?" Sam chipped in, amused as he looked at the woman. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, as in Scarlett. I'll admit, it definitely wasn't my best alias, but I was tired and just spat out a name, I didn't really think it over. As for you two—really, Kansas? Do you always use rock band member names? What do you do if someone recognizes the name?"

"Happy coincidence," Dean returned with a tight smile, leaning forward. "What I'm more interested in is why you bolted with the hex bags if you knew we were hunters too."

The woman sighed, gesturing to the hex bags. "When I first came, I thought maybe it was just one witch, but these hex bags…I had to get away from the blissfully ignorant citizens to look at them and confirm my suspicions. What happened in that house wasn't something that just one measly witch could do. Either there's a very powerful, ancient witch in this town, or it's a coven. Either way, it's not going to be something I can do alone, and while I was surprised to find more hunters here, your arrival isn't unwelcome."

"And you couldn't have mentioned this back at the house? We've been digging through lore for hours thinking we were dealing with something new," Dean stated in irritation.

The woman rolled her eyes. "I had to check—like I said, I thought it was just one witch before that horror show. I had to do some research of my own and make sure I was right, first. The last thing I wanted with my first impression was to make a mistake," she said with a sly smile.

"Well, you still could have saved us several hours with a simple, hey, I'm a hunter, found these hex bags, have to check something out first," Dean grumbled. The woman shrugged.

"I'm not used to working with others—I've gone solo for…a long time," she said with a wave of her hand. "Anyway, I've already got all sorts of information and research back at my hotel, if you boys want to catch up with what's going on."

"We don't have your name yet and you're already inviting us back to your hotel—aren't you jumping the shark a little?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised and a slight smirk on his face.

Sam hurried to respond before the woman snapped back at him, which she looked ready to do. "I'm sorry for him, he's…" Dean gave him a look, waiting to see if he could come up with a word to describe _Dean_ before he gave up and moved on. "What we mean is we don't know you and for all we know you could be—"

"Sabrina gone dark," Dean finished, studying the woman intently. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"First of all, I'm not a little girl—I'm twenty-four," she said flatly, and Dean was slightly amused that the first thing she took offense to was being compared with a teenager rather than being accused of being a witch. "Second of all, I don't know or trust you either, but we're going to need each other, so I decided to just suck it up and be the first one to ask before we crossed paths in a more dangerous way that costs us. Third, I _can't_ do this one alone, I know my limits, and you need my info. I'm also an extra gun, blade, whatever, to give you more of an edge, and witches and demons are kind of my specialty. If we can put aside the _I don't know you_ debate long enough to work together we can stop this before another mass murder occurs."

The two brothers glanced at each other, Sam giving Dean a _she makes a good point_ look before Dean turned suspicious eyes on her once more. "You still haven't given us a name."

The woman glanced between them, her tone less harsh. "Deja. Floy."

"Deja," Sam repeated, testing out saying her name right. "I'm Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean."

Deja glanced at Dean, rising from her seat with a brief nod. "Nice to have real names this time. I'll let you two eat—we can head to my hotel when you're done." She rapped her knuckles gently against the table next to the hex bags. "You're welcome to keep those—I've already messed with them. They're harmless now."

She walked away in the next moment, making her way to a table in the far back where she sat down, opened her laptop, picked up a burger, then winked when she caught Dean watching her. "As much as I hate unknowns on cases…" Dean said slowly before turning back to Sam. "She's hot."

Sam looked thoroughly unimpressed, shoving the hex bags out of sight. "Dude, I'm pretty sure she'd shoot you first."

"Yeah, I got that impression earlier—you should have seen her at the house. Still…" Dean said biting his lip and momentarily getting lost in his thoughts.

"Do you think we can trust her?" Sam asked, his expression serious while Dean shook himself out of fantasy land. Dean debated for a few moments, eyeing where Sam had stashed the hex bags.

"I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt for now…but I wouldn't say I trust her, yet," Dean said pointedly. "Since we're dealing with witches, we have to be extra careful. It could be anyone…"

"So…work with her, but keep an eye on her?" Sam simplified.

"Well, you don't have to worry so much about keeping an eye on her—I can do that," Dean said slyly, and Sam's annoyed, unimpressed look returned.

"Again—she'd probably shoot you first."

"What? Sammy, a woman like that _deserves_ to be appreciated, even if it's only from a distance."

* * *

Deja finished her meal quickly, carefully slipping her backpack into her black messenger bag before she paid and left. She ran across the street to buy a case of cherry Dr. Pepper for herself at the gas station before she returned to the diner parking lot. There her precious 1974 Stingray Corvette sat, and as always, she couldn't resist running a hand along the car's sleek white hood before she reached the passenger side. She had the roof off the T-top at the moment, so it was easy to spot the dark red interior. There were a few modifications, like the modern stereo, but most of the car stayed true to its roots.

As Deja put the soda and her messenger bag on the passenger side floor, Dean's voice came from the driver's side of the car.

"This is your car?"

Deja looked up to see the boys standing side by side, Dean's vibrant green eyes showing that he was mentally taking apart the car and judging every piece while he twirled the keys of his own car in his hands.

Deja shook a finger at him. "Hey now, don't you go judging my car, boy. My dad and I rescued Rosanne from the junkyard and fixed her up ourselves. My mom was just mad it wasn't a '73 or '77 we found."

"You named your car Rosanne?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with naming a car," Dean said defensively. Deja chuckled.

"She's lucky she was named by me. My dad wanted to name her Fluffer Nutter or Ghost Buster—which would have been sadly ironic, now—but I talked him out of it. Not that I should've been surprised, since it was coming from the same man who wanted to name me Pink."

Dean grinned almost instantly. "I get it."

Sam smiled as well, though he moved right to business. "You said you had information back at your hotel room?"

Deja nodded, making her way over to the other side. "Yeah, just follow me and I'll lead us there...if you can keep up," Deja finished with a wicked smile. She was a speed junkie loved not only the sleek cars that gave her goosebumps hearing the engine idle, but ones that could go fast and whose revved engine made her heart pound faster.

Like Rosanne.

"Oh, I think Baby will do just fine," Dean assured her, nodding towards the Impala parked two cars over.

"Another Chevrolet...And an Impala...nice." Deja opened the door, getting in the driver's seat and starting the car. Avril Lavigne's "Freak Out" started blaring, but she turned it down enough she could speak normally. "I'll see you two at the hotel."

She started to pull the car away to idle at the exit in wait of the boys. As she coasted away from the diner, she barely managed to hear Dean tell Sam, "I like her."

* * *

True to his word, the Impala Dean drove stayed securely behind her Corvette, even when she accidentally went ten or twenty over the speed limit.

She had a bad habit of subconsciously speeding, not that she ever did anything to fix it unless there was a cop nearby. She couldn't help it—Rosanne just begged to stretch her legs every now and then.

Deja drove smoothly into the motel parking lot, easing to a stop in the parking space right in front of her motel room. Once the engine was off, she grabbed her case of soda, messenger bag, her keys, and one of her three separate journals that was stuffed in the pouches on the passenger side before she headed towards the door. Dean's Impala rumbled into place beside her Corvette, and she smiled just slightly at the sound of the car's engine as she fiddled with the motel door—she needed to jimmy the door a little to get it to open, pulling up and towards her as she tried to turn the key.

"All right…don't mind the mess of papers, like I said, I wasn't expecting any more hunters, and when I get going…well…it looks like there's no order, but I swear there is," Deja murmured as the boys got out of their car and approached her.

"Oh, I'm sure it's not that…" Dean started to say, though he trailed off when she finally managed to shove the door open and stepped inside to give them a clear view of the papers tacked along the walls, a few sorted in messy piles on the bed with a few books lying open, and stray papers thrown to the floor in frustration. "…bad. Yikes."

"Yet again, I know it looks bad, but there is order to this," Deja reiterated as she sat the case of soda and her keys on top of the empty mini fridge before turning the journal she was carrying. "So, those hex bags, they had some serious hoodoo in them—not literal hoodoo, just…it was some messed up stuff, really dark, and it required a lot of juice to pull of those three hexes, especially all at once. Hence my assumption we're dealing with one scary powerful witch or a coven."

Deja thumped the journal down on the table, the book open to the page with the spell for the hex bag that had melted the son. "The good news is, I've seen this one before, very rarely, and always involving the same damn witch. I haven't seen her or her husband in town, though, so it might be another member of her coven trying to _recruit_. On the bright side, it's easy to narrow down the suspects when it's someone who recently moved in. The down side…it won't be easy to neutralize this one—this witch only recruits the best, so members of her coven are no pushover."

"What is this…some witch's grimoire you happened to swipe on a case?" Dean asked, leafing through the journal with worry written clearly across his face—the book did have some dark stuff, spells that would make a demon's skin crawl. Deja shifted uncomfortably.

"No…that's my own personal studies, spells I've seen in the past. I figured if you know what's in it you can figure out how to combat it, in case you can't find the hex bag, or a hex bag isn't involved and it's not such a simple fix. Know thine enemy, right?" Deja said, eyebrows raised.

"Right…" Dean said slowly, though he still looked concerned, setting the journal back down and putting noticeable distance between him and it as he decided to look at her wall of suspect progression.

"This witch—coven—you suspect…you sound like you've run into them before," Sam said pointedly. Dean looked back at Deja, both boys expecting a story.

"Yeah, I have—back when I was in no way ready to be taking on anything supernatural, let alone her and her coven. It's been a while, but…we have a nasty habit of crossing paths. Unfortunately, ever since I've become more…capable, I only run into the other coven members, never the bitch or her husband." Deja gestured over to where she had case descriptions and victim pictures up on a wall. "They're a bunch of sadists to the core, and all their victims are completely at random—they take care to avoid falling into a pattern unless they're trying to send a message."

"Have you found a pattern to these murders?" Dean asked.

"No," Deja said with a shake of her head. "It's just a bunch of senseless killing, one after the other. Our witch recruiter is probably playing with new spells their priestess has given them or training some bloodthirsty new coven members—or both," Deja stated bitterly.

"I'm starting to see why this is going to be a team effort," Dean murmured.

"Do you have any leads for suspects?" Sam asked.

"These three," Dean answered immediately, having reached the end of her suspect progression and gesturing to the three that remained—a woman and two men. "It looks like you're focusing on finding the coven recruiter, right?"

Deja nodded. "The big fish, so to speak. I figured if I can pin them down, they'll not only lead us to the recruits, but I might be able to get information on the sadist coven if I can play this right."

"Seems like a reasonable goal," Dean relented, eyes scanning the information she had on the three suspects. "So, Rhonda Clarke, Victor Platts, and Trevor Grier…who gets who?"


	3. Chapter 2: Stakeout

_**I'm just going to pop in here for a moment and pathetically plead for reviews, I love feedback! Please! Review! :D**_

* * *

"Rhonda and Victor live on the same street, so that will make things a little easier. I'm guessing you two will take that watch?"

Dean followed Deja out the door as she spoke, Sam sticking right behind him while Deja threw a few of her soda cans in her car. Dean glanced at Sam at her suggestion, his first instinct being to agree and stick with Sammy, especially since they were dealing with a coven and a powerful witch. However, he also didn't want to let Deja leave their sights, since neither of them had much grounds to trust her yet.

The fact she hadn't tried to kill them while they were in her hotel room racked up some credit, but Dean wasn't about to say he trusted her.

"Actually, ah…Sammy can handle Trevor. Why don't you and I take Rhonda and Victor," Dean suggested casually. Deja looked up, gazing at him carefully for a moment before she seemed to give, eyes sliding between the two brothers.

"All right…but I'm driving," she said, leaning the seats forward and lifting an added iron shutter that acted as a blind to hide a large trunk space filled with weapons and the two roof pieces to her T-top.

"Understood," Dean said distractedly, managing to get a decent look at her weapons collection before turning to Sam and pulling out his keys. "Be nice to her," Dean stressed.

Sam rolled his eyes, reaching for Dean's keys. "Yeah, I know—"

Dean pulled the keys just out of his reach. "Not a scratch, or I _will_ kill you."

"I heard you the first time, jerk," Sam retorted, snatching the keys out of Dean's hands.

"Bitch," Dean returned, smirking. Sam shook his head and made his way to the Impala, pulling out of the parking space by the time Deja had snapped the second roof piece into place.

"Well…get in," she said pointedly, leaning against the roof on her side of the Corvette.

Dean and Deja both got in the car, Deja absentmindedly reaching back to slide the metal shutter closed after starting the engine. Dean's gaze slid towards Deja for a moment when _more_ Avril Lavigne started playing, but he kept his mouth shut—her car, her music.

He wondered if that was all she had music-wise. He hoped not.

As he started to discreetly shuffle through the CDs she had stashed in the passenger side pouches, Deja chuckled softly. "I take it you _don't_ like Avril Lavigne."

Dean glanced up, two Avril Lavigne albums, an Evanescence album, and a few mixed CDs labeled Rock one, two, three, etcetera, in his hands. "What? No…well...I'm more of an classic rock kind of guy, but if that's what you're into…more power to you."

Deja shook her head, leaning forward to cut Avril off in the middle of "Sk8r Boi." "Well, I won't torment you, then. Try three."

"What?"

Deja rolled her eyes. "Try Rock Three, the disc labeled Rock Three—Rock one is more the songs even non-rock fans know, two is more of an Indie Rock album cause my dad was really into that. And of course since my dad was into it he got me into the genre, the whole nine yards—there's The White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Death Cab For Cutie, Fall Out Boy, Nirvanna, all sorts on that album. But three and up have some pretty good tracks on them."

Deja glanced over at his silence, seeing the look on his face and instantly laughing. "Oh, don't give me that look! Everyone's entitled to their tastes. Look, if it really mortifies you so much, why don't you rifle a little more through those CDs, I'm sure you'll be able to breathe a little easier."

Dean's eyes narrowed, not sure if he wanted to believe her and half afraid he was going to find something mortifying in her music collection. Deja huffed, snatching the stack of mixed CDs out of his hand and picking out the one she'd recommended, switching it out for the Avril Lavigne album she had in. Shooting him a dirty look, she turned up the volume slightly as the first song that played was…

Joan Jett, "I Love Rock and Roll." Now she was on the right track.

Putting the remaining CDs back into their places, Dean did spot an Arrowsmith, two AC/DC, and a Pat Benatar album, which gave him a little more faith in her music tastes. His hand brushed against a thick, hard black leather book with faded gold dusting on the spine and front, and his curiosity seized him, wondering if it was another specific hunter journal like the witch one she'd had at the hotel. He'd just opened the book and glimpsed some neat Latin and Deja's name when her hand suddenly appeared and snatched the book from his grasp, snapping it shut and shoving it behind her seat head.

"Nosy much, Curious George?" Deja asked, sounding a little annoyed. Dean put his hands up in surrender.

"Sorry, I thought it was another hunter journal," Dean said honestly. Deja huffed.

"Yeah, well, it's not—that one's _private_ ," she stressed, shaking her head. "Are you always like this?"

"I'll let you know, I'm on my best behavior right now," Dean stated with a smirk. Deja grimaced.

"That's scary," she muttered, missing Dean's eye roll because she was too focused on the road.

* * *

The rest of the drive passed in relative peace, the only sound the seventies and eighties rock coming from the stereo until Deja parked the car, turning it off and leaning back in her seat.

"And now we wait," she sighed. "That house is Rhonda's, Victor's is right across the street."

"That's convenient," Dean muttered.

"Yeah…I've wondered a few times if one of them is the recruiter and the other a prospective recruit. I guess we'll see," she murmured thoughtfully.

Dean let a few moments of silence linger before he spoke again. "This isn't going to be one of those awkward stakeouts where neither of us talk and we just stare intently at strangers' houses, is it?"

"I never said you couldn't talk," Deja said distractedly, head turned towards Rhonda's house. Dean kept Victor's in his peripherals.

"Nice to know you'll tell me," Dean quipped, gaze flickering over what he could see of her face. "So, what's a girl like you—"

"What's a pretty girl like me doing tangling up in a gritty job like hunting?" Deja interrupted.

"Well…yeah."

Deja shifted in her seat to look over at Dean. "First of all, please don't start throwing the _you're beautiful_ lines at me, and don't limit me to appearances. I get that enough as it is, and nothing annoys me faster than someone I don't know calling me beautiful, because I've heard it so much it sounds like objectification and nothing more."

"Sorry I asked," Dean muttered, looking away. Deja sighed.

"I'm sorry…you just hit two nerves at once and…like I said, I haven't really worked with anyone in a while, so I might seem a little…brisk." She was quiet until Dean looked her way again, though she was looking down at her hands, her eyes distant. "As for your question…well…how else would I become a hunter than the classic hunter way?"

Dean's gaze turned purely sympathetic, his tone softening. "Who did you lose?"

Deja flicked some stray hair from her face, tense but obviously trying to stay composed. "Everyone. Right down to the damn dog."

Dean was taken aback, gazing at the young woman only two years younger than him with…well…sympathy wasn't a strong enough word, and neither was surprise or sorrow. It was an interesting mixture of feelings. No one expected to hear…that.

"As…inadequate as it may be, I'm sorry," Dean eventually said. "How old were you?"

 _Please don't have been a kid, please tell me you've only been doing this for a few years…_

"I was thirteen. And I was there. It was a coven of witches. They wanted me alive to see if I had potential as a witch—it was back when they _harvested_ young, and I was still young enough to be on their radar. But…I set the house on fire and got away."

"Just you…thirteen? And you dodged a whole coven?" Dean asked skeptically. Deja shrugged.

"My parents didn't raise a stupid child. We were a military family in the country. My mom took me camping, fishing, and hunting since I was little. I knew how to handle different kinds of guns, I had a good idea of handling knives, I'd been taught to drive when I was eight, my dad taught me some basic self-defense and we always wrestled, he never went easy on me in strategy games, and he never babied me and kept things real and honest down to how cruel the world could be." Deja paused, laughing softly to herself. "My dad and I would get into random survival conversations—we once talked for a full three hours about how to best survive the zombie apocalypse because they had an old zombie movie commercial on the television."

She quickly sobered, looking down at her hands. "I knew I had to get out of there fast and not look back. It helped my dad kept the keys by the door _and_ my mother's purse was by the door, plus our emergency bags—we had bags near the door for if we ever had to leave the house in a hurry, like because of a fire or something. I grabbed what I could, threw it in the car, and hit the road to put as much distance as I could between me and the two witches who came to my house. _Then_ I worried about what I'd do next."

"So…you've been on your own since you were thirteen?"

Deja nodded. "Pretty much. I mean, I jumped into the foster care system here and there under different names when I was in a tight spot and couldn't support myself, then ditched as soon as I could. When I was still young I pretended to be a kid in the local neighborhood looking for pay for odd jobs—raking leaves, shoveling snow, that kind of thing—and when I got older I cracked into the bigger games, like your classic credit card fraud, though I'm also quite the card shark and I'm pretty good at pool. Did a lot of researching, practiced, took self-defense classes wherever I went, I'll admit to picking some fights to practice, and I just kept increasing the stakes as I got older. What I have to offer is self-taught or from when I was younger, but I still know what I'm doing. I learned the hard way…but at least I learned."

Dean leaned back, taking her in anew. "Well…I apologize for trying to make assumptions. I guess I'll just have to accept that you are _not_ an open book."

Deja smiled weakly. "Thank you for giving me that much…" Before Dean could ask any hows or for any crazy stories, Deja lobbed the ball back into his court. "What about you? How did you and your brother end up in the life?"

"Our mother was killed by something when I was four. After that my father started hunting and raised Sammy and me to hunt as well."

"I'm sorry…I can't imagine what it was like growing up in this life."

Dean shrugged. "Oh, it wasn't that bad…" Deciding he didn't want to take a trip down that rabbit hole, he tried to shift attention back on her. "An apple pie life isn't for me, but at least you got to have one for a while."

"I'd rather have even one of my family members alive today than memories of an _apple pie_ life." Deja was quiet for a moment, then turned her attention back to Dean. "You're lucky to have them, Dean. Don't ever take advantage of that."

The pair sat in silence for several long moments, mulling over what had been said. Suddenly, Deja laughed softly, running her hand through her hair. "Well…now that the ice has been decimated, why don't we ask _normal_ questions."

Dean laughed as well. "Sweetheart, there is no such thing as normal for a hunter, not even in questions."

Deja scoffed. "That's not true—favorite food, favorite song, favorite place you've been to, favorite movie, favorite weapon…okay, that last one might be a little hunter-esque, but I'm still counting it."

"Really?"

"Hey, usually I do this alone—it's nice to have someone to talk with instead of having to sit alone in a car silent as a crypt."

"Whatever," Dean sighed, looking out the window. "What was the first question, favorite food? Pie."

Deja nodded. "Chicken enchiladas—the homemade kind, because I know a really good chicken enchilada recipe. Now, favorite song…well…that's harder than I thought it would be."

"Mine's a tie between _Ramble On_ and _Traveling Riverside Blues_ ," Dean stated—he'd been asked this question before.

"Well…Wanted Dead or Alive and Mockingbird have sentimental ties, and I think Mockingbird is the only rap song in my collection…other than that, Invincible—good old Pat Benatar. Favorite place, I'd have to say Cape Cod in Massachusetts."

"Huh…does my Impala count? I mean…she _is_ my favorite place to be."

Deja laughed softly. "Yeah, sure, your Impala counts. Okay…favorite movie. We'll make it a little easier and say favorite standalone."

"The Untouchables," Dean said almost instantly. Deja looked at him in shock, and then broke into a huge grin.

"No way—mine, too. It's a family favorite. The train shootout is definitely one of my favorite parts."

"All right, so favorite weapon would have to be my Colt," Dean finished, flashing his engraved nickel plated Colt M1911A1 with ivory grips. Deja chuckled, but didn't show hers, relaxed in her seat with an arm on the steering wheel.

"Again, same—it looks like we have the same model, too. Except mine has pearl grips, and it's not engraved."

Dean shrugged. "It's a good gun."

Deja smiled, turning her full attention to Rhonda's house while Dean looked back towards Victor's house. The silence in the car was a little more comfortable, but still Dean didn't feel entirely trusting. Maybe once the job was finished, if she hadn't put a knife in their backs, he would.

* * *

"Well hello, Rhonda, what are you up to?"

Dean sat up in the passenger seat when Deja spoke, leaning forward to see what was going on. Sure enough, Rhonda Clarke was leaving her house with a clearly distressed girl of perhaps eight or nine in tow, headed right towards Victor Platts' house. The man himself came out of the house in a nice suit, speaking with Rhonda quietly while the little girl struggled to get away. Since none of the neighbors seemed to be crying out _kidnapper_ , Dean assumed the girl was Rhonda's daughter.

"This looks rather promising, wouldn't you say?" Dean commented, glancing over at Deja.

"It looks like it…" she murmured, watching as Rhonda, Victor, and the girl got in a fancy SUV. Deja waited until the car SUV was a decent way down the road before she started Rosanne, easing back onto the road and carefully following after them. "Let's see what they're up to."

"I'll call Sam, see if he's found anything," Dean commented, already pulling out his phone. Sam picked up on the second ring.

"Did you find something?" Sam asked before Dean could get a word out.

"Possibly—Rhonda and Victor just took off with a very reluctant girl in tow, we're following them now. You?"

Sam snorted. "If watching a guy treat his Pomeranian like his only child is something, sure."

"Yeah, yours sounds like a bust. I'll text you the details when we find out where these three are going."

"Sounds like these two are who we're looking for," Deja commented, eyes focused on the road—her headlights weren't on so they wouldn't be noticed following the SUV.

Dean tucked the phone away with a nod. "He's just waiting for the word and then he'll catch up."

"I figured as much," Deja said distractedly, slowing down slightly to stay a safe distance behind the SUV. Dean kept his gaze out the window too, noting that the SUV was headed out of town and the trees along the road were starting to thicken.

"So…did you ever find the witches? From when you were thirteen?" Dean asked. Deja sighed.

"They chased after me for some time...but then I grew capable, I became a hunter, and they started keeping their distance. Now _I'm_ trying to find _them_ instead of the other way around. Though I wouldn't be surprised if they were still tracking me, trying to catch me off guard...what about you? Did your family ever find what killed your mother?"

"No...it went completely underground after that, as far as we can tell."

"That makes two of us, then," Deja said with a sigh, fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel and eyes fixated on the SUV in front of them with a faraway look in her eyes.

* * *

Eventually, the SUV pulled off the main road onto a back road that led to farmland. Deja pulled the Corvette off the side of the road under cover of a thick patch of trees, watching as the SUV parked in the shadow of an old brown barn.

"A barn—how original. Why can't they ever try to meet in a rented-out office space or at home, something other than old abandoned buildings?" Deja muttered to herself while Dean sent Sam a text telling him where they were. Before Dean could answer with a witty reply, she reached across him and pulled a Sharpie out of nowhere. All the while, she was muttering under her breath, tapping the Sharpie against the wheel thoughtfully while she worked through whatever had her suddenly irritated.

"They're working some serious dark magic...that wiccan symbol won't stand a chance...that witchcraft protection doesn't work as well as it should...maybe just the dark magic itself…should hold long enough…protect from the worst…"

As she seemed to work out her issue, Deja started to draw a quick, angular symbol on the back of her hand that looked a little witchy, mumbling under her breath some more, though he couldn't understand what she was saying. Once she was finished, she held her hand out. "Give me your hand."

"What?"

Deja sighed. "Your _hand_. So I can put this sigil on it—it should hold against the worst dark magic thrown our way long enough to control the situation...whatever it is we walk into. Unless, of course, you _want_ your liquefied intestines to end up all over the ground?"

"I get the picture," Dean stated with a roll of his eyes, relenting and letting her doodle on his hand. She was quick and her movements were so light he wouldn't have known she was drawing on his hand if he hadn't been watching her. He looked closer at the symbol once she was done, gaze sliding towards her. "I'll have to remember this one...where did you find it, anyway?"

Deja shrugged. "You spend so much time hunting one type of the supernatural, you pick up a thing or two." When Dean continued to look at her expectantly, she sighed. "There was a coven on this job I did a while back, all of them were up to some nasty stuff, but this one girl who didn't want anything to do with it, but she was blackmailed and threatened into staying. After I handled the others she gave me some tips. I think she's running a greenhouse somewhere and supplies some white magic help here and there for hunters and other witches trying to stay out of the dark stuff."

"You keep an eye on her, right? I mean...good for her for trying, but magic is like crack with witches, once they get a taste all they seem to want is more power," Dean said warily.

Deja shifted, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Well, while that's unfortunately true for most...there are those who have made it their job to help and push back against dark magic...those are the ones I let go and keep in contact with. If they go back down that dark road...I take care of it. I've had to before and I'll continue to do so."

Dean relaxed slightly. "That's good to know."

"Well, I do know how to do my job," she said, her tone slightly on the tart side.

"I never said you didn't," Dean replied defensively. Deja shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I'm not usually this snippy, it's just…"

"I'm a stranger, you're not used to working with others, it's probably been a rough few days, a bunch of people are dead and we're about to barge in on some dark magic practicing freaks...it's understandable. I'm doing my best not to take it personally," Dean told her honestly.

Deja sighed, opening her door. "Then how about I make it up to you, and once this is all fixed you, your brother, and me can have a victory dinner at the diner or something, on me."

"Free food? Hell yeah," Dean agreed with a smirk as they both got out of the car.

"Right, well...I want to get close enough to the barn to know when to kick the door open—in case we need to before Sam gets here. Are you coming?" she asked, taking the gun she'd mentioned earlier out from a holster tucked into her jeans under her shirt and easily doing a quick check to make sure it was loaded and the safety off. Dean prepped his gun as well, giving her a slight nod.

"Well, you did say this was a gig you couldn't handle on your own. Unless that's changed since we drove over here?"

Deja chuckled. "Just come on."

They quietly made their way towards the barn, guns in hand and ready to fire at the drop of a dime. Once they reached the barn, Deja took the lead, completely silent as she came even with the barn and pressed her ear against the old door to hear inside. Dean took up position on the other side, straining to hear those that were inside. He could make out a man's voice, most likely Victor, and the girl was probably the source of the whimpering, but there was more than one woman's voice.

He heard perhaps six people in total, but there was possibly more. It didn't sound like a situation where they could afford to go in before Sam arrived. By the look on Deja's face, however, it looked like she'd go in alone if she felt she had to—not that it would end well. At least she wouldn't be going in alone, though he wasn't about to thank her if she dragged him into some suicidal stunt.

Dean heard the girl's whimpers turning into hysterical words, and he pressed his ear against the door, trying to hear what was being said. Deja's expression was that of concentration, eyes locked with his as the girl's words became clearer—possibly as the girl moved closer to the door.

"No! I-I don't want—Mom, you've _killed_ people!"

"What does that matter? With this kind of power we can do whatever we want! All you have to do is make a tiny little deal with Daphne, and you'll be able to do whatever you want as well!"

Dean's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Deja in concern, his own worry deepening when he saw her mouthing _shit_ over and over. They hadn't been expecting to run into the demon the witches made a deal with for their power.

"It's wrong! And messed up, and sick!"

"Do as I say, Giselle!"

Dean inclined his head in the direction of the car in a clear question of _should we go back_ , but Deja shook her head, determination settling in her expression.

"Giselle, listen to your mother." That was probably Victor.

"No! Just—go to Hell! All of you!"

"Been there, sweetheart—that's not much of an insult," came another voice, probably the demon.

 _I got this_ , Deja mouthed to him, though he wasn't that assured. He had no holy water on him, didn't have an exorcism on hand—he had to hope that she had one memorized and could get it out before the demon overpowered them. He'd wait for Sam to arrive but—

"Giselle...now that you know about this, if you won't join the coven, we'll have to make you useful in other ways," Victor said pleasantly.

"Virgin's blood is needed in quite a few powerful spells," the demon Daphne said.

—things were escalating too quickly for them to wait much longer.

"No! Screw you!" Giselle shrieked from inside.

"Grab her," Victor ordered with a sigh.

Deja shifted, and Dean barely managed to move out of her way before her foot kicked the door open and she fired a round. Dean was coming through the door behind her as soon as someone screamed.

"Cristo!" Deja shouted over the scream, and a brunette up on the barn's hay loft snarled, eyes flashing black. "There's the demon," she announced, firing a second bullet that shot out Victor's other kneecap. One of the woman started to say something in another language, fingers arched in Deja's direction and malice in her eyes before Dean put a bullet in her.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…" Deja started to say, and the demon shrieked in anger, jumping down from the loft and charging at Deja. Again, Dean put a bullet in her, though this time he knew it would only slow her down, and to try and save the poor woman who was being possessed he only shot her in the leg. Deja backed up to put some distance between them, kicking Victor in the head along the way.

Dean hissed when his hand suddenly burned, and he looked down to see the symbol Deja had drawn glowing as red as molten metal. Deja suddenly whipped around and pointed her gun at Dean, which made his heart stop for one very long second.

Shit…this was why he hadn't wanted to trust her, this is why he'd been using caution.

This is why he'd gone with her instead of letting Sammy tag along with her.

Dean made sure he didn't close his eyes and kept his gaze locked on Deja as she squeezed the trigger, though he couldn't help the slight jump that came with the bang that followed the bullet being launched through the air. He waited for the white hot agony of a bullet, for death to rapidly approach, but there was nothing. Surprised, Dean tried to comprehend what had just happened before he registered that the burning in his hand was gone. A low groan resonated behind him, and Dean turned just in time to see a witch drop dead behind him.

Deja gave him an exasperated look when she saw he was surprised he wasn't dead, which brought on a bought of guilt for thinking she'd been about to kill him, but she quickly turned her attention back to what she was doing. A quick look at his hand told Dean that the symbol was now mysteriously gone as well.

Perhaps it was a one-time thing.

"...omnis congregatio et secta diabolica," Deja spat as the demon reached out and grabbed her shoulder. She brought the handle of her gun hard across the woman's face and the demon went reeling as Deja hurried to finish. "Ergo! Draco maledicte!"

The symbol on Deja's hand lit up, and she looked up in time to spot another witch lurking in the rafters trying to put a curse on her before Dean shot that witch down as well.

 _Wait, where's the girl?_

Dean looked around the barn with sharp eyes, knowing the girl hadn't left because he was standing by the door. It took a minute, but he eventually spotted the girl huddled in the corner being shielded by an equally terrified looking woman.

"...secura tibi—" Deja cut off with a grunt when Victor grabbed her by the ankle and yanked her to her knees, lunging forward with a wicked knife in his other hand. Deja let out a shout and bashed him hard enough with her gun to knock him out, looking back to see a very pissed off and nearly exorcised demon charging her. "Facias libertate servire, te—"

—Dean rushed over and tackled the demon to the ground right before it reached her—

"—rogamus, audi nos!"

The demon screamed, as did the two females hiding in the corner as a plume of black smoke shot out of the woman's mouth, swirling upwards and then evaporating into nothing. The woman below Dean went limp, completely unconscious, and he backed off, looking back towards Deja. The other hunter was panting, hand pressed against her leg wound as she regained her bearings. Dean stood to help her and had almost reached her when she looked up with a bittersweet smile.

"Well...that went better than I expected...Hell of a lot better if I'd been on my own."

Dean held up the hand that she'd drawn her symbol on. "It's good to know these work...think you could copy that symbol down so I can use it?"

Deja chuckled weakly, sitting back. "Yeah...sure...after we get out of here." Deja looked down at her leg as Dean crouched down beside her, moving her hand out of the way so she could look at the wound. "That's going to suck for a few days…"

"At least it's nothing that can't be fixed up."

"At least...help me up," Deja suddenly ordered, and though he was a little surprised Dean helped her to stand. Deja leaned into him for support for a few moments before she managed to straighten and stand on her own, seizing control of the situation with ease.

"All right...we've got bullets in people. Daphne there is going to need a hospital, but Victor here gets to be my guest for a little while before he's shown his new forest residence," Deja said with a scowl. She looked back at the other two still cowering in the corner, gaze softening. "And I'll go ahead and talk to those two. Do you think you could tie up Victor for me—preferably with iron somewhere—and check on Daphne while I talk to the girls?

"And your leg?" Dean said pointedly. Deja reached into her jean pocket and pulled out a bandanna, giving him a smug smirk.

"Always come prepared, right?" she asked, wrapping the bandanna tight around the wound as a makeshift, temporary bandage. "I'll get _proper_ treatment once we're out of here. Now go on, I'll take the hard job—I've had to give this talk many times before, I can handle it."

Her smile seemed forced to Dean, her eyes sad, and it was clear she was still in pain. He wouldn't want to give this talk to the girl either, as her mom was probably one of the witches they'd just shot. Regardless, he let it go, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender before he went to check on Daphne and see what he could do before hunting down some iron chains.


	4. Chapter 3: The Woman in the Trenches

_**Yay, this chapter marks the end of the introduction stuff-now I can get started on the real meat and focus on weaving Deja into the Winchester's lives, mwahahahaha (Sorry, I've been tinkering with how these opening chapters were going to go for a while and now I'm just itching to start throwing her into episodes and working on some original material that's more included with what's happening in the show than this one, which is obviously rather isolated from what's going on).**_

 _ **Again, PLEASE, PLEASE review as I love feedback! I'm also doing these characters for the first time ever and would like some opinions so I know if I'm writing them right or if I need to make some adjustments.**_

* * *

Dean wasted no time in binding the captive Victor in iron chains, dragging him out of the way a safe distance away from the door. Daphne was still unconscious, and he'd done what he could for her leg, but she was going to need a hospital soon.

Deja was sitting down with the other two woman, talking with a comforting arm around the young girl and holding all of their attention. He didn't know what was being said, but she seemed to have calmed their hysterics and had the conversation well in hand.

The door to the barn rattled open and Dean instantly went on alert, gun up and aimed at the door a split second before Sam stepped through. Dean sighed, tucking the gun away and getting up from where he was kneeling beside Daphne to approach him.

"It's about time you showed up," Dean chided his brother while Sam took in the blood and dead witches all over the floor, the unconscious woman Dean had just left behind, the captive, unconscious witch chained to a post in the corner, and Deja with the two survivors. Sam's eyes eventually landed on Dean.

"What the Hell did you two do while I was gone?"

"Fun, Sammy, that's what happened," Dean said with a sly grin.

Sam's annoyed expression quickly returned, and for a few seconds he looked like an exasperated parent resisting the urge to throttle their child. "And she _didn't_ shoot you?"

"Well, he _thought_ I was about to, but it was just a witch trying to obliterate him from behind," Deja piped up cheerfully from her corner with a smirk. "Don't worry, I shut him down a long time ago after he called me pretty."

Sam laughed while Dean scowled, and Deja came over with Giselle and the other woman in tow. "Bethany is going to take Giselle home, and Daphne to the hospital—we've already got a story in place, too."

"We had a book club, the barn guaranteed no one would bother us. We had several meetings and tonight Victor just snapped and started firing. I managed to get the gun but he still had a knife and kept coming, so I shot him four times, grabbed Giselle and Daphne, and we bolted," Bethany stated while Giselle kept walking right past them, most likely to get in the SUV Deja had already swiped the keys for. Dean frowned.

"A book club, really? And why _four_ bullets?"

"What, should I tell them we were a coven of witches meeting in secret? I'm sure that will go over well," Bethany said shakily. "And she told me to say four."

Bethany nodded to Deja, who gave her a sad smile. "Go get the other two out of here, and stay out of trouble."

Bethany returned her smile, though it was strained. "Oh, I don't want anything to do with magic ever again—I wanted out when the first person died."

Deja inclined her head to acknowledge her statement, then gestured for Bethany to follow her, making her way to Daphne. "Come on, I'll help you get her in the car."

Dean was quick to interfere. "Ah, no, you've got a bad leg—I can do that," Dean interrupted, hurrying forward so that he could sweep up the unconscious woman before either of the women could even reach her.

Deja huffed. "It's a stab wound—he didn't take my whole leg off," she complained, though she didn't stop him either, so he kept moving, Bethany falling into step behind him. Once they were out of the barn, Dean spoke.

"So, what did she tell you?" he asked nonchalantly, waiting for Bethany to open the SUV's door before carefully laying Daphne in the back. Bethany waited until he'd closed the door to speak, most likely so Giselle—who was sitting in the passenger seat—didn't hear.

"She said I didn't have to continue with this nightmare, and that I had the choice to jump ship, so that's what I'm doing. Quitting magic entirely and trying to put this whole disaster behind me. And she gave me a number to call if I ever run into any trouble and need help. Hopefully I _won't_ need it."

Dean nodded, glancing back towards the road. "I won't keep you any longer."

Bethany smiled weakly, making her way to the driver's side. She paused just shy of getting in, turning back to Dean. "Victor's not walking out of that barn, is he?"

Dean held her gaze. "Maybe not," he said carefully.

"He better not," Bethany stated with sudden conviction that surprised Dean. "That _thing_ is a special kind of monster that deserves to rot in Hell."

With that, Bethany got in the car and left, leaving Dean to return to the barn. Sam and Deja were lingering near Victor, stopping whatever they were talking about as Dean approached.

"Well, we've got some time before the local authorities get here, so whatever you're planning you might want to get started," Dean told her, nodding towards Victor. Deja sighed, looking at the witch with distaste.

"Right…I'll make it quick," she said, making her way over to the unconscious witch. She appraised him for a few seconds before using her foot to put pressure on one of his shot kneecaps. Victor quickly roused with a scream of agony, but Deja looked unfazed. "Rise and shine, Vicky, we need to talk."

"What's going on?" Sam asked in confusion, staring worriedly at Deja.

"Victor here is a lead for the witch who killed her family," Dean explained softly, folding his arms over his chest as he watched Deja with a furrowed brow.

Once Victor regained full consciousness, he looked at Deja with murder in his eyes, snarling something in Latin. Deja smiled at him, pulling out her gun and crouching down in front of him. She waved the gun at the chains that bound him to the post, her voice casual. "Iron chains—no magic for you."

"Who the Hell are you?" Victor spat, teeth clenched. Deja clucked her tongue at him.

"No, no, no, I'm asking the questions here—who I am doesn't matter. I'm more interested in your boss."

Victor smiled humorlessly, dark eyes fixed intently on Deja. "I don't have a boss—this was all me, sweetie."

"That's funny, cause some of the spells you've been using are Iona Neeley's special recipes—and she doesn't give just anyone that kind of firepower."

Victor cocked his head to the side, sighing as if the entire ordeal bored him. "Sorry, beautiful, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Victor hadn't even blinked yet before Deja's gun went off, and a new bullet embedded itself into the man's shoulder, causing him to shout. "Bitch!"

Deja held up a finger. "One—don't call me beautiful. Two…I'm not in the mood for games, so it's best you start talking. Iona—what do you know?"

"Why would you care?" Victor hissed.

"Iona and I are due for a little chat, but she hasn't been returning my calls," she sassed. "So you're going to tell me where I can find her, or point me to someone who _does_ know. If you're feeling particularly chatty, you can even tell me where Booker is."

"Iona, Booker…you know some pretty big names, darling…and you're obviously a hunter…" Victor stated thoughtfully, glancing down at the chains before turning an intense gaze on Deja once again. Dean had to give her credit for not flinching away from that look when she was so close to the guy, considering it was bothering _him_. "Blonde…those blue eyes…hunter that knows her witch facts…you wouldn't happen to be that Floy girl?"

Deja didn't answer his question, her expression only hardening. "Iona and Booker," she said evenly, so still she could pass as a statue in silence.

Victor laughed. "Oh, you _are_! We've heard a lot about _you_ , sweetheart! Tell me, did you like those spells I used in the last house? The irony of me liquefying little Johnny like Iona did your old man, oh, I would have enjoyed it more if I'd known sooner!" Victor leaned in closer, but Deja didn't budge. "Sorry you didn't get a front row seat this time—"

Deja suddenly pressed as hard as she could on Victor's knee, causing him to growl in pain. "Iona, you bastard."

"You won't get anything out of me, sweet thing. You don't just _waltz_ up to Iona—she finds you when you're worth her time. You're not even a flea to her—your just some snot-nosed little shit throwing a temper tantrum about something your family _deserved_ —"

The gun went off a second time, cutting off what Victor was going to say as the bullet went right into his heart. He slumped against the chains, blood trickling out of his mouth while his glassy eyes remained fixed straight ahead, a cruel smile frozen on his face.

Dean wasn't sure how he wanted to react. It was clear Victor was twisted, and the questioning had been going nowhere even when she resulted to some torture to get _something_ out of him, so killing him had been expected…but she'd both tortured—however lightly—and killed him so casually it was chilling.

Deja very slowly tucked her gun away, remaining in place and closing her eyes while taking a few deep breaths. After a few seconds, she rose to her feet and started to undo the chains holding Victor's body to the pole so that she could drag the body into the middle of the room where she'd first shot him. She did so quickly, calmly, as if shooting somebody point blank and then staging how they'd died was something she did regularly. She never looked their way, her expression blank and her body language tense, and once she was finished with her task she simply walked out the door.

"Should we…give her a few minutes?" Sam asked hesitantly, staring at the spot Deja had disappeared.

"Yeah, probably," Dean confirmed, glancing around at the carnage in the barn.

"Would now be a bad time to ask what you think of her?"

Dean shrugged. "She's a good hunter—too guarded for me to get much of a personality read on her other than snippy, but she also said she's in a bad mood and rusty with people skills right now."

"Maybe we just caught her at a bad time. Obviously this job was…personal," Sam said quietly.

"We did catch her at a bad time, and now that it's over, maybe we'll be able to get a better read on her—she offered to buy dinner once we finished."

Sam shook his head. "Free food—of course," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Hey, she offered, who am I to turn her down?" Dean responded defensively. "Come on, we should go before the cops show up."

They left the barn, Dean expecting to see Deja right outside, but she wasn't in the immediate vicinity. He glanced around the barn before shrugging it off, deciding she was probably back at her car. "Where'd you park her?" Dean asked, referring to Baby.

"Right behind Deja's car."

"Keys." Dean caught the keys, flipping to the key to Baby as he took the lead. As he'd suspected, when they reached where the cars were parked he saw Deja sitting in her car with the door open, staring at the ground. She looked up when they approached, giving them a tight smile.

"Hey. I'm going to take a rain check on dinner tonight—I've got an appointment with a bottle of tequila back at the hotel. But breakfast tomorrow before I skip town, I can do."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean agreed, watching her for a moment as she ran her hand through her hair. "Are you gonna be all right?"

"After the tequila and a good night's rest, I'll be better." Deja's smile remained in place, but it was a weak one, and she looked older and utterly exhausted for a few moments. "So, did I pass?"

Dean blinked. "What?"

"Did I pass your evaluation? I'm not stupid, and honestly, I've been sizing you up as well. Though the whole big brother doesn't let the stranger out of his sights thing and the oh-shit-she's-going-to-shoot-me look earlier were a little obvious," she said, chuckling.

Dean smiled slightly, looking down at the keys in his hands. "Well, you didn't shoot either of us, so there's that."

Deja laughed softly. "Yeah, there's that…I promise I'm usually more fun and laidback, it was just one of those jobs…"

"So I noticed…" Dean looked up, brow furrowed in concern. "You really going to be all right?"

Deja shrugged. "Like I said, a bottle of tequila and a good night's rest, I'll be okay. I'll see you two in the morning, at the diner on the corner of 17th and Selby Street."

"What time should we meet you?" Sam asked, speaking up for the first time.

"Oh, why not sleep in a little? How does ten thirty sound?"

"Sounds good. Come on, Sammy, let's let her get home so she can take care of herself," Dean stated, ushering Sam back to the Impala. Deja started her car, driving away in a matter of moments and given them a little wave as she passed. Dean watched her go, Sam leaning on the roof of the car and following his gaze.

"Do you really think she's going to be all right?" Sam asked quietly.

"No," Dean said with certainty. "But if she's as good of a hunter as she seems, she's not going to let it show."

"Do you really think that's any better?"

Dean glanced his way but didn't answer him, opening the driver's side door. "Let's go before the cops get here."

* * *

Deja didn't turn the light on when she reached the hotel room—she stayed in the dark, fishing out a candle from one of her bags and lighting it so she at least had enough light to see where she was going. She pulled out the tequila bottle she's mentioned to Dean and an old-fashioned whiskey glass, pouring a moderate amount of tequila into the glass. She didn't immediately start drinking, choosing instead to start cleaning up her mess of papers and research at a slow but steady pace, slowly sipping on her drink.

Once her mess was cleaned up and most of her stuff packed, Deja sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the glass in her hand.

 _The irony of me liquefying little Johnny like Iona did your old man…_

She could still feel the heat of the fire as the house burned around her, hear her parents screaming a few feet in front of her, feel the dog's warm blood splatter all over her after it had lunged at her family's attackers trying to defend her…

And that boy in the bed…had looked just like what remained of her father, except smaller cause he'd been young, give or take a few years from how old she'd been when it happened…

Deja shook her head, running a hand down her face before she downed the rest of her first glass, reaching for the bottle to pour another.

It was going to be a rough night—hopefully the tequila would help some of the pain fade.

* * *

"Why _wouldn't_ you go to your own funeral, how many times do you get that chance?"

Deja, Sam, and Dean all sat in the diner she'd directed them to the night before, digging into a seemingly never ending breakfast and swapping stories before they parted ways. Dean and Sam had just finished telling a story about a shape shifter they had just dealt with in St. Louis, and while she had plenty to comment on, she seemed to only be capable of commenting on Dean's lack of seizing an opportunity.

"I know, missed opportunity, isn't it?" Dean asked with a grin where he sat across from her at the table, taking a bite from his meal.

"You guys have some weird stories, I mean…I don't think I have anything near that level of crazy! Well…I guess there was the haunted toy—and I don't mean a children's toy—but I would rather _never_ speak of that again in my life," Deja said with a laugh.

"Crazy does seem to attach itself to us," Sam commented from his relaxed spot on Deja's left.

"Maybe that's why you two bumped into me," Deja mused playfully. "I never said I was sane."

"What hunter is?" Dean asked. Deja pointed her fork at him.

"Touché."

"So, where are you headed after this?" Sam asked, taking a drink of his orange juice. Deja shrugged.

"Rosanne and I will hit the road and just drive till I find a lead or a case, hustle some people at cards and pool along the way, the usual. Maybe if I get the chance I'll hit the movie theatre a few times—I can't resist a good movie. I'm guessing you two will resume the search for your dad?"

"That's the plan," Dean stated. Deja gave them both a gentle smile.

"Well, I hope you find him." She blinked, reaching for her purse. "Oh! Dean, you wanted a copy of that symbol?"

"Yes—yes, that would be a handy thing to have," Dean told her with a smile, taking the piece of paper that had the angular symbol drawn on it in pen.

"Now it only works once, as you know, maybe twice if they're weak spells that are cast, and it only works against dark magic _specifically_. It won't do you much good against a witch that's trying to flambé you with standard fire magic, but at least it keeps you safe from the truly nasty stuff."

"Wards against really nasty witch juju, usually only once, got it," Dean said with a nod, about to tuck the paper away when he caught sight of what Deja had written on the back. A half smile quickly slipped on his face, and he flipped the paper around to display the ten-digit number on the back. "And what's this for?"

Deja rolled her eyes. "Not what you're thinking, genius. I figured if you guys ever need an extra pair of hands for a job you can call me. And it doesn't have to be a witch or demon thing, those are just what I deal with the most. Definitely call me if you've got one of those wacky cases, I'd love to get in on one of those—I'm a sucker for the bizarre, especially if it's dangerous."

Sam laughed slightly, studying her with a look she thought was a cross between confused and amused. "You really enjoy the job, don't you?"

"I love the perks of being able to work outside of the law, it's thrilling," she said with a playful wink before she laughed. "Seriously, though, I do. Sure, it's hard, some days more than others, it's lonely, and dangerous as Hell…but I love it. I can't see myself doing anything else."

"Really? Do you think you'd go back to a normal life if you could?" Sam pressed curiously. Dean's jovial mood dropped noticeably, and the expression he shot Sam told her they were headed towards a conversation topic that was the source of some tension between the two. Deja pretended not to notice to avoid drawing attention to Dean's reaction, keeping her eyes level with Sam's.

"No one's life is normal, Sam—everyone's got different levels of crazy in their lives. I know my life sure as Hell wasn't normal before…everything. It had its time periods that _felt_ like what normal should be, but…" Deja shook her head. "It's not the _normal life_ I miss, if you really want to call it that. I miss the people, more. The _family_. Take it from someone who knows, family means a lot more than having a desired lifestyle. So I guess no, I wouldn't go back to a normal life if I had the choice, because to me it would be empty without the people I cared about to share it with."

She couldn't help it—her gaze slid to Dean's clear green eyes once she finished talking to see how he would react. The elder Winchester smiled, though it still seemed a little sad—maybe because of the reminder of her personal tragedy, maybe because of the tension she was sensing between him and Sam, she didn't know. What she did know was that what she said seemed to land on Dean's side for whatever this issue was, and Sam leaned back to mull over her words, his expression pensive.

Hopefully whatever she said helped.

* * *

After breakfast, the three collectively made their way out to the parking lot where their cars were parked side by side. Dean sighed, standing by the hood of his Impala and holding her gaze while he absently twirled the keys in his hands.

"So Deja…Is there really no hope for a guy like me?" he asked, unable to keep his half smile from slipping into place. Deja pursed her lips, studying his gaze for a moment with a soft _hmm_ before she finally spoke.

"Keep trying. I mean, it's not that you lack the charm and the appeal…I'm just not that easy to land," she said with a wink. Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Really now? Well, I do like a good challenge."

Deja laughed, shaking her head. "I'm sure you do."

Dean chuckled softly under his breath, backing up to the driver's side door. "Well…take care, Deja."

"You too, Dean," she said, then smiled at his brother who was standing patiently at the passenger's side of the car. "Sam. And don't be afraid to call if you need help!"

"Will do!" Dean confirmed, and with that, Deja got in her car, started Rosanne up, put in an Avril Lavigne CD, and pulled out of the parking lot with one last wave goodbye. Dean watched her go for a few seconds before he got in the Impala, pulling out his main phone to enter Deja's contact info.

"You're relentless, you know that?"

Dean glanced over at Sam, who was watching him with a mildly amused smile. Instantly Dean's own amused grin fell into place, and he wagged his finger at his brother to emphasize his point. "She said there's hope, Sammy…there's hope! Besides, she _said_ to call her."

"For _cases,_ " Sam stressed.

Dean gave an overly dramatic sigh of exasperation. "Well, yeah, _for cases_ , but just because there's a case doesn't mean there isn't a chance for something to happen _during_ the case," Dean stated with a wink.

Sam rolled his eyes, settling back in his seat. "She's definitely the kind of person to shoot you first."

Dean considered it for a moment, then decided to give Sam that much. "Maybe…but there'll probably still be a chance."

"Now you're just grasping at straws," Sam scoffed, but Dean had already started the Impala and took the chance to turn up the music to a ridiculously loud level.

"What? What did you say? I can't hear you," Dean shouted over the music.

"You're such a child," Sam shouted back, but Dean decided to pretend he didn't hear him, a content grin slipping into place as he pulled the Impala out of the parking lot and put them back on the road for their next case.

Or hopefully a lead on their father.


	5. Chapter 4: Asylum, Part 1

**_Come on, guys, reviews, please, I need feedback! (Both to know where I need to make improvements and for motivation, its disheartening when no one is commenting on the story)_**

 ** _Please Review!_**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

* * *

 _Thud! Clang! Hiss! Thwack!_

The sounds of a fight echoed through the dirty back alley, though it wasn't much of a fight so much as an ambush. One man jumped two young men who had entered the alley from above, throwing the shorter of the two into a dumpster hard enough to dent it. The thrown man hit the ground hard, in too much pain to get back on his feet any time soon. The taller of the two ambushed men knocked away the punch the ambusher threw at him before it could connect, having been given just enough time to react purely on instinct. As he did so, a passing car's headlights illuminated the alley just enough for him to see that their attacker had jagged fangs protruding from his gums. The ambusher hissed at the taller man, shoving him with inhuman strength against the wall and lunging towards him. When the taller man tried to bat away an oncoming hit again, the ambusher grabbed his arm and threw him to the ground, pinning the taller man in place.

The taller man tried to grapple the creature off of him, but it held him down with inhuman strength, one of its hands making it to his throat, teeth snapping as the man's attention was shifted to keeping the thing at least far enough it couldn't bite him.

"Sammy!" the shorter one shouted, gripping the rim of the dumpster to pull himself up. Before he could lunge at their ambusher, three shots rang out from the mouth of the alley back towards the street. The creature shrieked in anger, staggering backwards before setting his eyes on the newcomer and hissing again, but this time in pain.

At the same time, a sheathed machete was thrown in the air towards the man near the dumpster, who caught the weapon and unsheathed it with well-practiced ease, advancing on the creature with a slight stagger and swinging the weapon with enough strength to cut its head completely off.

By then, the newcomer had reached the taller of the two, and as the creature's head rolled across the ground she reached her hand out to help him up.

"Are you all right, Sam?"

Dean approached the two, the now-bloody machete in hand. "Well, what do you know? Déjà vu."

Deja rolled her eyes as she pulled Sam to his feet. "You've been waiting to use that one, haven't you, Mouth?"

Dean gave a slight _yeah, I don't regret it_ shrug as Sam went right to the heart of the matter. "Deja, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the same reason you are; I found a case, and it looks like we found the same case. Either way, you're lucky I arrived when I did. I take it you thought you wiped out the nest and didn't know about this straggler?"

"Pretty much—but how are you _here_ , specifically?" Sam stressed, gesturing to the random ally in a decently large town.

"Oh, that," Deja said with a slight chuckle. "I started asking questions and was told about the two agents with rock idol last names and started asking about you two until someone pointed me to this joint."

Deja jabbed a thumb at the bar next to them where Sam and Dean had been having a victory beer while Sam nodded in understanding. "And when you got here, you heard the scuffle."

"I already knew to expect vampires because of the vics, so I jumped in to lend a hand, and now here we are." Deja looked down at the vampire on the ground before them. "We should probably take care of Chompy here before somebody sees us and thinks _murder_. We can chat and catch up afterwards."

* * *

"So, no luck with finding your dad?"

Deja, Dean, and Sam sat collectively in the boys' hotel room, relaxing after a long day for everyone—though for Deja it was more of a chance to stretch after a long drive—and catching up on what had happened with everyone while they'd been off doing their own things. Sam and Dean sat on their beds, and Deja had pulled up a chair, leaning it back casually onto two legs and balancing herself on the wall behind her.

Sam shook his head, looking understandably irritated. "None. What about you, did you find any leads on your witches?"

"Zip. I did see a good movie and wrap up a case here and there, though, but nothing major or story-worthy. What about you two, have you had any interesting cases?"

"Nope," Dean said rather quickly.

"Nothin," Sam added. Deja's eyebrows rose.

"So, it's just been one boring stretch of road for all of us then? Nice to know. So…" Deja dropped her chair back onto four legs, leaning forward. "You won't mind if I tag along for a while, will you?"

"What?" Sam asked, taken aback. Deja shrugged.

"I dunno, it's just been really quiet, no leads or anything, and quiet is bad when you're solo—quiet leads to gradual insanity," she stressed with a smile and a short laugh. "And running into you guys here, well…I kinda liked teaming up with you two and thought if you'd have me we could try doing so again."

Sam and Dean shared a look, both of their expressions hesitant. "Well…" Dean started to say, sounding like he was about to turn down the offer as gently as he could.

"I'm not asking to move in or anything, I'm not talking anything permanent—just until I pick up another lead, since that will probably lead me elsewhere. I won't be a bother, I promise: I drive my own car, eat my own food, use my own weapons, and book my own rooms."

 _That sounded like a sales pitch for a pet_ , she thought.

"It couldn't hurt," Sam said slowly, looking to Dean.

"We did work well together back on that witch hunt," Dean relented. Deja clapped her hands together.

"All right then! And if I become a bother, just tell me and I'll go. So where are you two headed, generally?"

"Right now, we're not entirely sure," Sam admitted. "The last we knew our dad was in California, so we've been calling a bunch of his buddies in the area to see if any of them have seen him or if he's gone to any of them for supplies. So far, nothing, but we haven't got in contact with everyone yet, so we may still find something."

"Okay...well, you guys keep doing what you're doing, I'll do my thing in my little corner of paradise, and we'll see how this goes." She stood up from her seat, stretching her arms over her head. "As for right now...I'm going to get some sleep. I'll see you two in the morning."

They boys said their goodnights, and as soon as Deja was through the door, Dean turned to Sam. "It couldn't hurt?" Dean echoed.

"What? I was being honest. And I thought you were the one hoping to get lucky with her," Sam jabbed.

"An occasional job together is fine by me, but tagging along when we've only worked one short case with her before…"

"Dude...you already agreed, so relax. I doubt she's going to try and kill us in our sleep or key your car. You heard what she said, if it doesn't work out, she'll leave. Let's just give it a shot—it never hurts to have an extra set of hands ready to help out."

* * *

Deja looked up at the knock on her motel door, rising from her rickety chair and closing the book she's been pouring over. She'd been traveling with the Winchesters for roughly a week, and they had fallen into a sort of easy routine. She always got a room next to theirs—unless there were thin walls, then she would get a room down for privacy's sake—and followed behind them in her car. At one point the boys had backtracked on their own to Kansas for a 'private matter,' which Deja hadn't minded. Everything had been smooth sailing and quiet, though she was sure that soon they would pick up a case. Nothing was ever smooth and silent for long.

Deja peeked through the door's peephole, giving a little yelp when all she saw was another eye on the other side. Thankfully, it was a _familiar_ eye.

Deja opened the door, messing with the long sleeves of her faded ACDC shirt as she leaned against the doorframe. "You can be an asshole, sometimes, Dean. You know that?" she teased.

"It's not my fault if you're easily startled," Dean returned, and Deja rolled her eyes.

"What's up, Dean?"

"We've got a job."

Deja's eyebrows rose. "A job, really? What is it?"

"We don't know."

"You…" Deja gave him an odd look. "How did you find a job if you don't know what it is?"

"We got coordinates."

"From…"

Dean bit down on his tongue for a second before speaking. "From our dad."

"Your Dad?" Deja echoed in surprise. "Wait, I thought he was missing?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "He is, but…He's still given us two cases despite being gone. He left coordinates behind for us to find that Wendigo job we told you about, and changed his voicemail to tell people to call us if we needed help, which led to that demon making planes go down. Just a little while ago he sent us coordinates from an unknown number, so that's probably where he wants us to go next."

Deja was taken aback. Their father was alive, knew probably knew that his boys were looking for him, was sending them jobs, and yet…they still had no idea where he was and couldn't get in contact with him. What kind of messed up…

 _No, no, not your place to judge._

"O…kay. All right, then. Where's the job?"

Now it was Dean's turn to be taken aback, and he stared at Deja for a long moment. "That's it—no more questions, just _where's the job_?"

"Yeah. I'm assuming you know your dad well enough to know it's him, so I won't question the source anymore. And you opened with we have a job so I'm assuming that's where you're going, so I'll be there. Why, were you expecting the Spanish Inquisition and some prissy girl hissy fit?"

Dean looked down at his feet. "I guess I'm just so used to Sam arguing with everything our dad says I regularly expect it now."

"Oh, I have plenty of questions of my own, but it's none of my business, so I'm keeping it to myself," Deja amended. "So, this case, the coordinates—where are we headed?"

Dean took a step back, jabbing a thumb towards his and Sam's room. "Come on over and we can all find out."

Deja rolled her eyes but stepped outside her room, shutting the door behind her. "All right, let's see what we've got, then. I've been itching to see some action."

* * *

"So, the coordinates point to Rockford, Illinois," Dean announced from his spot at the table, eyes glued to the laptop in front of him with brows furrowed. "I checked the local Rockford paper, and take a look at this."

Sam and Deja both moved closer as Dean shifted the computer so they could see the screen before continuing to speak. As he summarized what they were looking at, Deja took in the picture of a rather happy looking young cop and a run-down building that looked like it came right out of a horror movie. "This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at Roosevelt Asylum."

"Okay, I'm not following…" Sam said, gazing blankly at the pictures and article Dean had on display. "What does this have to do with us?"

Dean sighed slightly and pulled out a weathered leather hunting journal, but Deja was the only one close enough to hear it, and even then it was a faint sound. "Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal."

Deja respectfully didn't try to peek a glimpse at the hunter's journal Dean was shifting through, scooting back so Sam _could_ see.

"Let's see…" Dean muttered to himself as he leafed through a multitude of well-used pages before he finally came to a stop. "Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths—until last week, at least. I think this is where he wants us to go."

Sam made a quiet sound of disbelief, rising to his feet and locking his hands together behind his head. "This _is_ a job. Dad wants us to work a job."

Deja blinked. She'd thought that had already been established, by the way Dean had spoken…

"I mean, maybe we'll meet up with him, maybe he's there," Dean said hopefully.

"Maybe he's not. I mean, he could be sending us there by ourselves, to hunt this thing," Sam said, the irritation growing in his voice.

"Who cares!" Dean said loudly and cheerfully, snapping the journal shut and rising to his feet. "If he wants us there, that's good enough for me."

Deja remained sitting, feeling the tension continue to grow between the two and hoping that if she remained sitting and quiet they would forget she was there and she could discreetly slip out the door.

"This doesn't strike you as weird? The texting, the coordinates?" Sam pressed as Dean moved over to his bed to pack up the journal. Deja very carefully rose from her seat, eyeing the door and discreetly slinking towards it.

"Sam!" Dean said abruptly and loud enough to quickly cut Sam off. "Dad's telling us to go somewhere—we're going."

 _Awkward sibling/family drama. Come on, you can make it to the door before they spot you…_

No one seemed to remember she was there until the door clicked open, and by then Dean was in the bathroom, so it was only her and Sam. Sam turned around, looking like he'd just remembered she was there. Deja glanced between the ajar door and Sam, then gestured outside. "I'm just…going to go pack. Just come tell me when you two are ready to go."

"Sure, but before you go…don't you think it's…odd for a father to vanish from the face of the planet without telling his only family, then ignore all attempts from them to contact him and occasionally leave messages that only contain numbers for the location of a job? I mean…just a simple _I'm okay, this is where I'm at_ , or an _I'm still alive_ in the first place would be nice."

Deja sighed, leaning against the doorway so she was halfway in the room, halfway out. "I think it's none of my damn business," she said simply, which caused Sam to scowl and look away. "But if you really wanted my opinion…I have no clue why he's going about things the way he is—I can't speak for your father, I don't know him. But _I_ think that _he_ thinks you two are capable of handling these jobs without him, which is special in its own way."

Looking away from Sam, Deja caught Dean's eye in the mirror next to the bathroom door and looked away before either of them could interpret the other's expression. "I'll just go pack now," she said awkwardly, making a quick escape back to her room before she could get caught up in any more family drama.

She liked being around the Winchesters, but she did _not_ like the family drama—she would avoid that as much as she could.

* * *

Deja looked up from where she sat on the hood of her car when she heard footsteps approaching her, smiling slightly when her eyes confirmed that Dean had left _The Old Terminal Pub_ that Officer Kelly's partner frequented.

"I take it Sam's chatting up the partner, now," she commented as he reached her, leaning against the side of the Impala and facing her. She took a sip out of the soda can she held in her hand, taken from her currently dwindling stock. While they were in town she would have to buy more—she always had soda on hand, she wasn't about to run out now.

"Yeah, it might be a while." Dean pointed at the soda. "Do you _always_ have one of those? I almost never see you without one lying nearby."

Deja laughed. "I always have a soda on hand—though I'm running low right now, I'm going to have to restock soon." Deja took another sip of her soda, and despite her better judgement decided to brush on the taboo topic of the week. "So, your dad's still alive—that's good news."

Dean's gaze suddenly wasn't on her as he chose to instead look at the building Sam was inside. "That it is."

"So…after this, does the search continue, or will you two be waiting for him to come to you?" Deja asked carefully.

"I don't see how that's your business."

Deja shrugged. "It's not. I was just curious and thought I'd ask," she admitted, heaving a sigh and laying down on her hood. "I hate the waiting part…it drives me insane."

"It's not my favorite part either, but…"

"It just comes with the job," Deja finished. Bored, she tried to balance the soda can on her chest, knowing she was an odd sight at the moment in her tattered sweats and old long sleeve, but really not caring.

"You and boredom don't mix, do you?"

"Not at all…" Deja murmured.

"I could think of some ways to pass the time."

"Dean, you're getting obvious with your flirts."

"I never said anything about _that_ …though I'm open to it if you are," Dean added with a grin. Deja sighed.

"I'll pass, thanks."

"Your loss," Dean said with a roll of his eyes. "Anyway, that's not what I was going to suggest. You like those little games to pass the time, right?"

"Oh, you mean like when we tried to see if we could pick out any virgins in the bar because you said something about being able to sniff one out in a ten mile radius?"

"Yeah, kind of like that one."

"I won that one."

"I still disagree—there weren't any other virgins in that bar."

"Yes there was, and I know for a fact she was a virgin, but you failed to pick her out."

"I still disagree, but back to what I was trying to say, unless you want to continue being difficult?"

"Why thank you for noticing, Dean, I try."

Dean made a sound of disgust, waving a dismissive hand through the air. "Never mind, I give up."

Deja laughed. "All right, all right, I'm sorry, I'll behave. What entirely wholesome entertainment were you going to suggest, Dean Winchester?"

"I was _thinking_ one of us hums a song and the other tries to guess what it is. It's stupid, I know, but it'll pass the time...And keep you from spilling Dr. Pepper all over you."

Deja snickered, sitting up. "Touché. So, who starts?"

"I can," Dean volunteered. After a few seconds pause he started humming what was obviously a rock song's intro, and knowing his taste she threw her mind to what some would call mullet rock.

Though Deja loved a lot of those songs, they were classics.

After the first few notes, Deja smiled. "You Shook Me All Night Long, Rolling Stones." She pursed her lips, going through her mental musical library for a song Dean might know but wouldn't be obvious. Not wanting to struggle with trying to sing the intro chords, Deja went right to the chorus of her song, bobbing her head left and right in time with her humming. After a few moments, Dean managed to place the song.

"I Need a Lover, Pat Benatar."

They continued on like this, back and forth with different rock songs. Deja mostly went with the pop and rock of the seventies and the eighties, though occasionally she threw in modern songs to mess with Dean. Much to his chagrin, she'd been around them long enough for him to recognize some of the Avril Lavigne songs she loved so much. Some of the other modern or softer songs she threw into the mix…well, he pretended he didn't recognize them, but by some of his little reactions she was pretty sure he did.

Finally, as they started getting further and further away from songs that the other recognized, Sam left the bar, halting their intensifying competition. Dean's smile gained a slightly bitter edge to it, and he appraised his brother with a relaxed indifference.

"You shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy," Dean called as Sam came closer within hearing range. Deja's eyebrows rose as she looked to Sam. The silent tension between the two brothers was _already_ returning?

"I had to sell it, didn't I? It's method acting," Sam countered as he made his way around to the passenger's side of the Impala. Dean only looked confused.

"Huh?"

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand Dean's way. "Never mind."

"What did you find out from Gunderson?" Dean asked, thankfully quickly moving on from the previous conversation. Sam leaned against the roof of the Impala.

"So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Ahead of his class, even-keeled. He had a bright future ahead of him."

"Well, that doesn't necessarily mean that everything's all right on the inside," Deja chipped in.

"What about at home?" Dean asked.

"He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but it was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids."

Deja felt her good mood drop slightly at that news, but she shoved the feelings aside, knowing that it wouldn't do much good to pity the people who were already dead—they had to stop whatever was doing this before more bodies turned up.

"All right, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or something else did it to him," Dean summed up. Sam nodded.

"Right."

"What did Gunderson tell you about the asylum?"

Sam gave him a slight half smile. "A lot."

After a few moments of silence, Deja spoke up. "Well, Sam, don't leave us in suspense."

"Long story short, it's a hotspot for teenagers because of a local legend that says that if you spend the night in the asylum, the spirits of the patients will drive you insane."

"Which, with what happened to Officer Kelly…might be true," Deja muttered, tapping her soda can against her thigh. "We should probably check out the asylum then—but not tonight, let's try it in the morning after I've got a couple hours under my belt."

"All right, you heard her Sam, she needs her beauty sleep," Dean commented, opening the driver's side door.

"Or we could go now while I'm all strung out from the caffeine I've been drinking since we hit the road, and when we get there I get startled and end up accidentally shooting someone. We can do that too," Deja replied without missing a beat. Sam chuckled.

"In that case, we'll definitely go in the morning."

* * *

After unwillingly getting up at an unsavory hour of the day, a cup of coffee, a quick breakfast, and a casual jump over a roughly eight foot fence, Deja, Dean, and Sam all made their way up the stairs to the entrance of the Roosevelt Asylum. As they neared the door and Deja took in the sights around them, she felt a chill go down her spine and a pit settle in her stomach. Goosebumps broke out along her arm, and she frowned up at the building as Sam and Dean filed inside the door, rubbing her arm absentmindedly.

"Oh yeah…there's definitely something wrong here…"

Both brothers paused and turned to stare at her, which made her realize she'd spoken out loud. Deja shook herself out of her momentary stupor and stepped inside, though the feeling of unease and _wrongness_ didn't leave her.

"Care to share with the class?" Dean asked expectantly, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, um…" Deja fumbled, turning back to the entrance as her mind scrambled for her reply. "I've always had this thing—call it a sixth sense, I guess—where I can _feel_ when there's something bad nearby, like a malevolent spirit or sometimes dark magic if it's something seriously messed up. It's kind of like a gut feeling that somethings wrong, but stronger and more, ah…potent."

Sam perked up noticeably. "You're saying your psychic?"

 _Curious…_

"No…no, I wouldn't go that far," Deja amended. "I mean, I'm not able to _commune with the spirits_ , or read minds, or anything like that. It's just…if some really dark or powerful magic is being done or there's a vengeful, malevolent spirit nearby I get this…bad feeling. Kind of like a combination of someone's watching you and a pit in your stomach, and this sense of wrongness…it's hard to explain, but I wouldn't label myself as psychic. I know a few psychics, and that's not me. I'm just…a little supernatural sensitive."

The guys just looked at her, Dean appearing to be a little weirded out while Sam looked like he was still labeling her as psychic in his book. "Can you two _please_ stop looking at me like that and keep going? We're in the asylum, now what?"

Sam glanced down, looking abashed. "Right, sorry. So, apparently the cops chased the kids here…" Sam gestured to the hall on their right. "…into the south wing."

"South wing, huh? Wait a second. South wing, south wing…" Dean murmured, pulling their father's journal out of the duffel bag he was carrying and flipping through the pages. "1972: three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. The way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place."

"So, whatever's going on, south wing seems like the heart of it," Sam said softly as they all looked down said hall.

"Yeah, but if kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?" Dean asked. Deja walked towards the large double doors, kneeling on the ground and picking up the cut chain that was still partially looped in one of the door handles but hidden by the debris on the floor.

"It looks like the doors are usually chained. They could have been chained up for years," Sam said pointedly.

"Yeah, to keep people out…or to keep something in," Dean said ominously, raising his eyebrows twice for emphasis and giving both Deja and Sam a mischievous smile.

Deja pushed open the door to the hall, peering down the dark space before looking back at the two Winchesters. "So…dark, creepy, haunted asylum wing that I'm getting all sorts of bad vibes from…who's got an EMF reader, and who wants to go first?"

Dean pulled out a square object…and EMF reader, and stepped past her into the hall. "I've got this, ladies."

Sam's arms rose in the familiar _come at me, bro_ , gesture. "Dude!"

"I'm not going to complain, he implied I'm classy," Deja snickered when Sam turned to her for backup, following after Dean into the south wing and missing Sam's reaction. Dean stood with the currently inactive EMF in hand, waiting for the two of them to catch up. The hall stretched out in front of them, and Deja could see that there was another branch that went in a different direction.

"I'll see if there's anything useful down this hall—and don't worry, if I see a Casper, I'll yell," Deja said with a sweet smile.

"Just be careful, we don't know what we're dealing with yet," Dean cautioned.

"I know, I know," Deja sighed, already starting down the hall.

 _This will also give you boys a chance to_ maybe _bring up some conversation topics that are_ obviously _causing some tension. With my luck, probably not, and you'll have another outburst while I'm the awkward bystander._

* * *

Deja spent and unknown amount of time walking the creepy asylum hall alone, peeking her head into decrepit patient rooms and trying not to get spooked. Ghosts weren't her favorite thing to deal with—they'd always freaked her out, especially the children ghosts.

Not that she was about to admit it to her companions. How many jobs for a hunter involved ghosts? Besides, it was a manageable fear…most of the time. Sometimes it was just too damn creepy for her.

Like Sam and Dean's story about that child ghost killing people from water, or their Bloody Mary case, or their recent story about the Hook Man. Those had been nightmare worthy, and she was glad she hadn't been around for those.

No thank you.

Now, after coming up with basically nothing but a floor plan for the hall, Deja made her way back to the hall Sam and Dean had taken, trying to ignore the sensation of someone watching her. Even though she could tell this place had something bad lingering in it, nothing was coming out right now. Perhaps this was one of the cases where the spirits only came out at night or something.

As Deja neared the end of the hall, she started to hear raised voices.

Oh good, they were talking about their problems in her absence. Best to give them a little more space…

"So am I, Sam! Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We'll just have to pick up the search later."

"It doesn't matter what he wants."

"See, that attitude right there…That is why I always got the extra cookie."

Deja couldn't help the quick smile that flashed across her face at Dean's perfectly relaxed tone, though she knew he was probably tense at the moment. While they fought, she entertained herself with trying to figure out what old liquid was inside a mason jar left sitting on a cart in the hall to pass the time. In the room in front of her, the argument continued, Sam's voice raising from an annoyed, level tone to a louder, irritated one.

"Dad could be in trouble. We should be looking for _him_. We deserve some answers, Dean, I mean, this is our _family_ we're talking about."

Dean cut Sam off before he could finish saying _about_ , his tone suddenly hard and leaving no room for further argument.

"I understand that, Sam, but he's given us an order."

"So what? We've got to always follow Dad's orders?"

"Of course we do."

The room fell silent, and Deja looked up, staring at the door as she waited to see if the argument really was over. When she was sure that they had really stopped speaking and it wasn't just that she couldn't hear them, she made her way through the double doors, expression smooth so they wouldn't know she'd just heard their family drama…again.

"So, I just finished with the rest of the wing…this place was definitely left in a hurry, and nobody seemed to bother coming back for anything. There's medicine on the floors, still on the shelves, clothes in some cases—just stuff everywhere, strewn about like it was caught in some kind of stampede. You'd think this was a war zone and not an asylum," Deja reported as she made her way into the room, playing temporarily ignorant to the still sizzling tension from the argument the two had just had. Dean had his back to Sam, messing with something on the table while Sam turned his attention to Deja.

"They could have had an uprising or something—patients have been known to riot in places like this before. From the looks of this room, they were into the medieval, twisted stuff."

"Lobotomies and electroshock…joyous," Deja murmured, taking in the chair with the straps in the center of the room. Dean hadn't turned to acknowledge her presence yet, picking up a weathered plaque off the examination table he was standing by.

"Sanford Ellicott…" he murmured to himself before turning back to Sam and Deja. "You know what we've gotta do? We've got to find out more about the south wing, see if something happened here."

As he spoke he walked up to Sam, pushing the plaque into his chest without pausing and walking out the door. Deja didn't immediately follow, looking at the plaque with Sam to read _Chief of Staff Sanford Ellicott, M.D._ Sam simply heaved a frustrated sigh, dropping the plague onto a counter and walking after his brother. The resulting clatter of the plaque echoed around the abandoned building and, not wanting to be left behind.

* * *

Deja sat in the waiting room to see Dr. James Ellicott who was, of all things, a psychiatrist. Once Sam and Dean had found this medical descendant of the Sanford Ellicott who worked at the asylum, they had decided to see if they could get any information out of him. Sam had suggested scheduling an appointment to get the opportunity to speak with him, and Deja had volunteered to be the one to see the shrink, much to their surprise. When they'd asked why she wanted to do it, she's simply shrugged and countered with an _at least neither of you have to go in_. That had resulted in no more arguing, and now, while Sam and Dean waited outside, here she sat in the waiting room, staring mindlessly out the window because she refused to look at the magazines.

She wasn't much of a magazines person.

"Deja Floy?"

Deja tore her gaze away from the window to look up at the man leaning in his doorway looking at her expectantly, and she stood up from her seat on the couch. "Hello, Doc."

"Come on in," Dr. Ellicott replied, gesturing her into his office.

"Thanks for setting up an appointment—I know it's hard to get in without much notice, but my job has me moving around a lot and I prefer in person meetings over phone calls," Deja said as she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her before taking the seat right across from Dr. Ellicott.

As Dr. Ellicott settled in and got ready, pulling out a notebook and everything, Deja let her gaze roam the room, taking in some awards on the wall, his degrees, a photo of what was probably him and his father…

Dr. Ellicott turned his full attention to her, which she did in return.

"Before we get started, Dr. Ellicott," Deja said before the man could speak, crossing her legs and interlocking her hands over her knee. "I want to say that I've been to a few of these, almost always with a different person because I travel a lot, and I already kind of know what kind of method I can usually work with for talking about me, since I'm not usually too keen on the subject but I know I've got to talk about it somehow."

Dr. Ellicott blinked in surprise, but he didn't argue. "All right, then, Deja—how do you prefer to do this?"

"I like to talk so that it's not one sided. I'll talk about me, answer whatever questions you ask me, but I feel comfortable if I can ask you questions too—I'll try not to get into anything super personal when asking questions, though."

"A question for a question then?" Dr. Ellicott asked.

"Exactly."

"All right then, I'll start—how've you been, Deja?"

"Mostly the same, which I know isn't an improvement by a long shot. The job has me traveling a lot, but recently I've been working with these two brothers, and we've been traveling together—that's different. I've been on my own for…eleven years now. They're the first people I haven't immediately left after meeting them," Deja said honestly, leaning back in her seat. "As for my question…does medicine run in your family?"

"Yes, it does a little, my father was the chief of staff at the Roosevelt Asylum," Dr. Ellicott said dismissively. "Why've you been on your own for so long, Deja? You would have been thirteen eleven years ago, and your records say you've been in and out of foster care homes…"

"Well, after I saw my family murdered in front of my eyes I wasn't exactly in a people mood, and since the killers were—and still are—at large, I didn't trust anyone. And I still believe that its best that I don't get close to anyone else so that they don't get hurt by the same people who killed my family."

"Why would you believe the killers would come after you specifically?"

"That was my turn to ask a question, Dr. Ellicott," Deja said quietly, but she answered him anyway. "It was organized crime, and they were after me. They're boss was—is—a little mentally disturbed and had an unhealthy fixation with me from the first time she saw me. I'll go ahead and ask two questions so we catch up—isn't the Roosevelt Asylum that huge creepy building that looks like something out of a horror movie, and did something happen there because it looks pretty messed up."

Dr. Ellicott sighed. "Yes, that's Roosevelt Asylum, and there was a patient riot in the south wing that shut the Asylum down. So you're still convinced that this…crime syndicate that killed your family is after you."

Deja inclined her head. "I know they are. They've just gone underground since I grew older and are being a lot more careful."

Dr. Ellicott tapped his pen against his notebook. "If you're so sure that they are, and your belief that they will go after anyone you get close to is the reason you haven't associated with anyone in so long…what's so different about these two brothers you're traveling with?"

Deja paused, absentmindedly tracing nonsense patterns on her leg. "I've…been trying to figure that out myself, Doc. I can save my question for the end, I want to know about the riot and I can tell that's going to be a long story, so ask away."

"Okay then, let's see if we can get to the bottom of this. Tell me about these two brothers your traveling with, first."

"Well, there's the oldest, Dean, and the youngest, Sam. They're, ah…private investigators, they travel around and try to solve the really bizarre and hard cases that have the police stumped—they're really good at it, too. It's a family business," she added, considering what else to say.

"How did you meet them?" Dr. Ellicott asked.

"They were working a job in a town I'd stopped at—it had some bizarre mass murders going on, and I wanted to look into it for my writing. Then they showed up at the request of one of the families to work the case and our paths kind of converged. I shadowed them for my writing while they worked, they solved the case…I gave them my contact information and we parted ways. I ran into them again a while ago and asked if I could tag along, they said yes, and here I am."

"Why did you give them your contact information?" Dr. Ellicott asked.

Deja pursed her lips. "I…liked working with them. Well, I guess I should say I liked working with Dean, I hardly spent any time around Sam on that job."

"Oh, so you're attracted to the older brother?" Dr. Ellicott said with a smile. It wasn't a question so much as a statement, and Deja couldn't help but laugh.

"What? No. I mean…he is extremely handsome, I'll give him that, and he flirts with me a lot…"

"Do you flirt back?"

Deja paused at the questions, a small smile slipping across her face. "Occasionally, but it's not like anything serious. It's just…something fun that we do, like a game. He shamelessly flirts, and it becomes a competition of sorts if I reciprocate."

"Do you think it could be something more?"

"No," Deja said simply. "Dean's more of a…one night stand kind of guy. If I'm going to get involved with someone, I want it to be more than that."

"Okay then…what about the younger brother, Sam?"

Deja sighed. "Sam…he's a good guy, smart, definitely driven…"

A silence lingered for a few moments. "But?" Dr. Ellicott eventually prompted.

Deja stared at a spot on the ground. "I'm not sure…he entirely realizes he's got something really good."

"Why would you think that?"

"There's a lot of…tension between him and his brother, and they keep getting into arguments, and sometimes with the way he looks at Dean, or talks to him…it's like he doesn't realize that Dean's just trying to keep a family together, and trying to watch out for his little brother. I don't think he realizes he's got a damn good older brother."

"I can tell you feel strongly about this," Dr. Ellicott stated as he watched her mannerisms closely. "Why is that?"

Deja sighed, closing her eyes. "Because I _had_ an older brother."

Dr. Ellicott nodded in sudden understanding. "So you look at Sam and Dean, and you see Sam has what you once had, and he's not appreciating how good of a thing it is, which bothers you."

"I guess so," Deja said with a sigh. "Though that still doesn't answer the _why did I decide to road trip with them_ question."

"Well, the answer to that might be a little more obvious than you think," Dr. Ellicott said pointedly.

"What do you mean?"

"Deja…" Dr. Ellicott said in a voice that sounded like he was explaining something to a child, and he leaned forward. "You've been on your own for eleven years. Did you stop to think that maybe you were tired of being alone and wanted some human interaction again? Wanted friendship?"

Deja stared at a spot on the ground. "No, I haven't thought that. It's safer to be alone. And I'm not exactly a person someone would want to be around. I'm dangerous."

"I don't think that's true."

Deja looked up with a bitter smile. "You don't know me. You know what's on those records, you know what you can see, what I've said today, but you don't know _me_. You don't know me at the end of the day when no one else is around. You don't know how I feel."

"And how do you feel? Why do you feel like you're dangerous?"

"That's one of my problems, Doc. Most of the time, I don't feel anything. The rest of the time, it's anger, or pain, or a need for revenge, and that scares me. It's dangerous for someone like me to have that much…anger and nothing." Concern flickered in Dr. Ellicott's eyes, and Deja sighed. "Don't look at me like I'm going to become some psychotic killer, you're not the first person to give me that look. I'm not about to go murderer on innocent people, I'm too moral for that. I might lack feeling right now, but that doesn't mean I lack morals."

After a few seconds of silence, Dr. Ellicott spoke again. "Do you feel differently when you're around Sam and Dean?"

Deja blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. "I…I guess. I mean…I enjoy being around them, when they're not having a family argument. Dean's pretty funny, Sam's amusing…I feel comfortable around them."

"Perhaps spending time with them will help you feel better overall," Dr. Ellicott suggested.

"Maybe…" Deja murmured. She shook her head, ready to stop this line of conversation before it went any further and she lost control of the situation. She was here for a reason, and it wasn't to play therapist with the person she was actually interrogating. "Anyway, Dr. Ellicott—could I hear about that patient riot at the asylum?"

* * *

"And she finally emerges—you were in there _forever_ , what the Hell were you talking about?"

Deja gave Dean a sly smile as she approached. "Oh, boring psychiatrist stuff, and interesting asylum riot stuff as well."

"What did you find out?" Sam asked.

"Well, the south wing was where they kept the seriously disturbed, like your criminally insane, psychotic people—"

"Sounds cozy," Dean quipped.

"—and in sixty-four they rioted, attacking the staff and each other, which is why that place looked like a war zone," Deja finished.

"So…what, the patients took over the asylum?" Dean asked for clarification.

"Apparently," Sam commented.

"Any deaths?" Dean asked, still focused on Deja.

"Some patients and staff, including our chief of staff Sanford Ellicott," Deja announced. "It was a gory event—they didn't even find all of the bodies. The cops scoured every inch of the place, but the patients must have… _stashed_ the bodies someplace hidden."

Dean grimaced. "Well that's grim."

"Yeah, after that the patients were moved to a different hospital and Roosevelt was shut down."

"So, to sum it up, we've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies," Dean stated.

"Which could mean a bunch of angry spirits," Sam finished.

"Well, good times—let's go check out the hospital tonight," Dean quipped with a sparkle in his eyes, pulling out his keys and getting in the driver's side of the Impala. Deja looked up at the sky, gauging that they had a while before they would be heading to the asylum tonight. Maybe she'd get some rest, maybe she'd do some study…maybe she'd try to get the guys to do something enjoyable before they headed to the haunted asylum at night.

She was so looking forward to it.

Not.


	6. Chapter 5: Asylum, Part 2

When they went back to the asylum, the world had gone dark, and Deja really wasn't looking forward to traipsing through the shadowy halls of an abandoned asylum full of pissed of, disturbed spirits. She didn't know if the boys noticed, and she didn't say anything about it as she checked the salt rounds she'd stuffed in her pocket for safe keeping and kept her sawed off shotgun in hand. They hadn't even walked through the door when her sixth sense returned, but stronger now that the ghosts were actually out to play. Sam and Dean walked in front of her, Sam holding the flashlight and a video camera in the lead while Dean shouldered their weapons bag and held their EMF reader.

As they stepped through the door into the south wing, Deja repressed a shiver, walking a half step closer to her group. Dean glanced back, eyebrows raising slightly when he saw that Deja had started walking closer.

"You okay back there, Deja? You're suspiciously quiet," he commented. Deja slipped into place between Sam and Dean, finger tapping against her weapon absentmindedly.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate ghosts? I mean, I know they're, like, seventy percent of this job, but they still freak me out," Deja muttered. Dean turned back to give her an odd look while the EMF continued to buzz and go off in his hand.

"You're scared of _ghosts_?" he asked in disbelief. Deja scoffed.

"Scared? No, scared implies I can't function around them. No, spiders I'm scared of, dolls make me paranoid and creep me out. Ghosts freak me out. There's a difference. I can still gank a ghost, and I can stand in a room with a few dolls."

"But you can't handle an eight legged insect?" Dean finished, and even in the darkness of the asylum hall she could see the judgmental look on his face.

Deja shuddered. "Once they hit a certain size, no way. That thing needs to die and disappear or get far, _far_ away from me."

"Wow," Dean said, turning his attention forward so Deja couldn't see his face. Sam hit Dean's arm.

"Look who's talking! Flying," Sam said simply.

"Clowns," Dean returned with a glare at Sam.

"Okay, let's not start an argument about phobias while we're trying to hunt some vengeful spirits in a dark haunted asylum, how about that?" Deja griped, gripping her weapon a little tighter as they continued down the hall. "How are the EMF readings?"

Dean sighed, but dropped the previous conversation, glancing down at the device in his hand. "Lighting up big time," Dean announced.

"This place is orbing like crazy," Sam added, and Dean and Deja leaned in to see what Sam was talking about. Since Deja was in between the two, that simple movement to see the camera brought Dean into her personal space, mere inches from her face. She couldn't help but look at him for a split second because of his proximity, and when he locked gazes with her he winked, which caused her to roll her eyes before turning her attention back to the camera.

Like Sam said, white flares were all over the cameras video window, which made Deja slightly uncomfortable. And yet…she didn't feel _threatened_ by them. Uncomfortable that they were clearly there, yes, but threatened that they were going to try to drive her into a psychotic killer, no.

"There's probably multiple spirits out and about," Dean commented, looking back to his EMF reader.

"If these unrecovered bodies are causing the haunting…" Sam said quietly.

"We've got to find them and burn them," Dean finished. "Just be careful though, the only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit is a pissed off spirit of a psycho killer."

"See, they bother you too," Deja muttered.

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer," Dean returned without glancing back. Deja, however, did glance back when she felt chills go down her spine, a soft whoosh of air that was too soft to be considered a gasp making it past her lips at the sensation. As she turned, she managed to catch a glimpse of something disappearing into the hall behind them on their right a moment before Sam and Dean turned around to look.

"Did you see something, Jennifer Love Hewitt?" Dean asked, and since the hairs on the back of her neck were still standing up on end, Deja decided to ignore the comment.

"Yes…but not what we're looking for. Just keep going," Deja murmured.

"How do you know?" Sam asked, the beam from his flashlight now carefully scanning the hall directly behind them.

"Because I'm not feeling any immediate danger and it's not coming at us with murderous intent, so I vote leave the spirit alone and keep moving," Deja said, nudging both of their arms forward. "I hate this place," she added in a mutter under her breath.

"Well, just don't get lost and you should be fine," Dean replied, the trio continuing down the hall at a steady pace. Eventually they came to where Sam and Dean had their sibling spat when they'd first come to investigate, the hall splitting off in three directions. Sam went left into the room he'd argued with Dean in, Dean went straight ahead, which left Deja to go right, where light was streaming in through double doors from outside.

Deja was a little hesitant to go into the room by herself, her spine tingling like an EMF going haywire, and yet the dangerous presence they were hunting felt distant, like it was lurking in the shadows. She knew it was there, but it hadn't come to do them harm…yet.

Deja had made it partially into the room when Sam let out a yell, causing Deja to whip back around and sprint across the hall. Since Sam's room was adjacent to the one she'd been in, she immediately saw the ghost woman with the gaping hole in her head approaching him and was able to react quickly.

By the time she'd reached the doors she'd already taken aim. "Sam, duck!" she called, and as soon as Sam was clear she squeezed the trigger, rock salt exploding towards the ghost the same moment Dean rounded the corner to see what was going on. The ghost evaporated, and Dean rushed forward to where Sam was crouched on the ground.

"You okay?" Dean asked as all three of them looked around the now silent room.

"That was weird," Sam said slowly.

"Yeah, you're telling me," Dean murmured, turning to leave the room. Deja was already replacing the round she'd just used, brows furrowed as she stared where the woman had been.

"No, Dean, I mean it was weird that she didn't attack me," Sam clarified as he caught up to Dean, Deja taking up the rear.

"It looked pretty aggro from where I was standing," Dean retorted.

"She didn't hurt me, she didn't even try!" Sam stressed.

"She wasn't going to either," Deja chimed in. Both brothers looked at her. "I know I'm the one who pulled the trigger, but I was going off instinct. At the same time…she wasn't any of the angry spirits we're looking for. She wasn't giving off any kind of bad vibes. There's _something_ here that is, it just hasn't come out yet," Deja explained.

"That was a little too _Ghost Whisperer_ for my taste," Dean muttered, turning to face forward once more.

"So if she didn't want to hurt me, then what did she want?" Sam asked, looking between his brother and Deja.

Neither of them got to answer, because as they passed one of the patient rooms they heard a soft clank of tin or metal, followed by a quiet whimper. All three of them looked at each other, and Dean pulled his salt gun out of his duffle while Deja readied hers and Sam turned the flashlight in the direction of the noise, which was behind an overturned bed. Dean and Deja took the lead since they were the ones with weapons, Dean taking the left while Deja took the right and Sam stood in between with the flashlight giving them their light. Dean gestured with the salt gun, and Sam reached forward to grasp the bed's edge while Deja and Dean stood ready with their salt guns aimed in the direction of the dark corner behind the bed. After a few heartbeats, Sam suddenly pulled the bed back to reveal not another ghost or body, but a teenage girl hiding in the corner. She shrieked at the sudden screech of the moving bed and the sudden light, as well as the sight of two people holding guns on her, though once it was clear that it wasn't a threat hiding behind the bed, Dean and Deja both quickly lowered the guns.

"It's all right, we're not going to hurt you," Dean told her, holding out a hand in a gesture of peace. It was sort of impressive how quickly he switched from sharp hunter to calm protector. The girl stared at the three of them, and Dean lowered his gun a little more, as did Deja. "It's okay. What's your name?"

"Katherine," the girl said shakily as she got to her feet, looking at Dean warily. "Kat."

"Okay…I'm Dean, this is Sam, and Deja," Dean said calmly, though Sam interrupted before he could say much more, his tone urgent.

"What are you doing here?"

"Um…my boyfriend, Gavin—" she started to say, though Dean cut her off.

"Is he here?"

"Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts," the girl explained while Deja, Dean, and Sam all exchanged exasperated looks. "I thought it was all just…you know…pretend."

The girl wrapped her arms around herself, pulling her knee length knitted coat closer to her body. "I've seen things…I heard Gavin scream, and—"

"All right, Kat, come on," Dean interrupted, leaning forward and gently grasping her wrist to pull her towards the hall. "Sam's gonna get you out of here, then we're going to find your boyfriend."

"No! No," Kat said, bringing Dean to a stop. "I'm not gonna leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you."

"It's no joke around here, okay? It's dangerous," Dean declined, though Kat didn't seem any less determined.

"That's why I've got to find him."

Dean sighed, though his expression was that of only a slight inconvenience. "All right, I guess we're gonna split up, then."

"I'll go with Sam," Deja volunteered. Dean nodded to Kat.

"Let's go."

Deja sighed, watching Dean and Kat go down one side of the hall while she and Sam went down the other side. A little ways down, Sam started calling out Gavin's name while Deja remained a silent guard, her gaze roaming along the rooms that they passed. The tingles down her spine continued, but it was getting easier to ignore them and focus on trying to pinpoint that darker presence.

"So…you think there's something more going on here?" Sam asked at some point, his flashlight continuing its sweep along the space ahead of them.

"Definitely," Deja murmured. "Like I said, they're here, they're close, some of them are showing up…but so far all the spirits we've seen haven't been malicious in any way."

"But there's something here that is?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, there is. I know it's here, I can feel it…but it's like it's distant, hiding in shadows…waiting. And I don't like it at all."

"Well…just so you know, I don't think your sixth sense is weird at all."

"Really?" Deja stated, surprised. "Any particular reason why?"

Sam shrugged. "Like you said, some people are just more…sensitive to the supernatural. I know sometimes I get bad vibes too…" Sam paused and took a deep breath. "Strange dreams."

Deja studied him carefully for a moment. "Well…I don't have strange dreams, but I'm glad to know I'm not the only one extra sensitive to these things." She considered for a moment how that was quite a leap of trust Sam had just taken confiding in her about that, and she decided to reassure him. "And for the record, I don't think your bad vibes and strange dreams are weird either."

Sam chuckled softly. "Thanks."

The hall turned right, and the pair made their way towards the room a few feet in front of them, Deja remaining close at Sam's side with her salt gun at the ready. Sam went in first, and when he did he suddenly halted, causing Deja to almost run into him.

"Sam?" she asked, though when she peeked around his much taller form and saw the teenager lying on the ground, her instincts snapped back into place, and while Sam quickly moved forward to check on the teenager Deja brought her salt gun up and scanned the room, putting her back to the wall instead of the hall while looking for any threats and ready to fire if she needed to.

"Gavin? Hey, Gavin," Sam said, shaking the teenager until he gasped away, jumping like he was being attacked instead of woken up. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay, we're here to help."

"Who are you?" Gavin asked, glancing between Sam and Deja.

"My name is Sam, this is Deja—we found your girlfriend," Sam explained, holding out a hand to hoist Gavin to his feet.

"Kat?"

"Yeah."

"Is she all right?"

"She's worried about you. Are you okay?"

Gavin hissed in pain, touching a cut on his forehead. "Looks like you hit your head pretty hard," Deja commented, sparing him a glance before turning back to her sentinel job.

"I was running. I, uh…I think I fell," Gavin explained.

"You were running from what?" Sam asked.

"There was…there was this girl. Her-her-her face…it was all messed up," Gavin started to explain, sounding like he was headed towards hysterics.

"Okay, listen, listen, this girl—did she try to hurt you?"

Gavin looked taken aback. "What? No, she uh…" Gavin looked away, staring at the floor with a disturbed expression on his face.

"She what?" Sam pressed.

"She kissed me."

Now it was Sam and Deja's turn to be taken aback—Deja even lowered her salt gun slightly and stared at Gavin. Sam had to shake himself out of his surprised state.

"Um, but-but she didn't _hurt_ you, physically?"

"Dude, she _kissed_ me! I'm scarred for life!"

Deja let out a soft snort, and Sam chuckled under his breath. "Well, trust me, it could have been worse. Now, do you remember anything else?"

"She, uh…Actually, she tried to whisper something in my ear."

"What?"

Gavin gave him an incredulous look. "I don't know, I ran like Hell!"

Sam sighed, glancing back at Deja before turning his attention back to Gavin. "Well…let's go find Dean and Kat, let them know we found you."

"All right," Gavin murmured, letting Sam and Deja take the lead back out of the room. Deja kept her salt gun ready as she took point, Sam a step behind her with the flashlight.

"You might be right about the spirits here. Most of them aren't here to harm anyone," Sam murmured. "So then why are they here?"

"Maybe they're trying to _warn_ , not harm," Deja said pointedly.

"Warn about what, though?"

"More like who. If I have to guess what's terrorizing people and causing these deaths, I'd still put my money on a malicious spirit, I've been sensing it since we stepped into this place. We just need to figure out who it is so we can torch the remains."

"If we can find them—the cops never found those bodies."

"The cops aren't the best source for these kinds of cases, are they?" Deja said pointedly. Sam chuckled.

"Touché."

They had made it perhaps halfway back when suddenly they heard the distant sound of screams. Sam and Deja glanced at each other before breaking into a sprint in the direction of the screams, Gavin close behind.

The screams stopped as they drew nearer, replaced instead by an echoing pounding sound and the occasional groan of metal under stress. The screams started again as they rounded the corner to see Dean struggling to get a door open with a crowbar, Sam in the lead.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"She's inside with one of them!" Dean replied, still trying to get the door open.

"Help me!" they heard Kat scream on the other side of the door.

"Kat!" Gavin shouted.

"Get me out of here!" Kat shrieked as Deja pushed her way to the front past Sam, grabbing Dean's wrist to stop his struggle with the door.

"Hold on!" she ordered him, putting a hand against the door. "Kat, can you hear me? I need you to listen to me and do exactly as I say."

"What are you doing?" Dean asked in frustration. Deja ignored him.

"I need you to stop, take a few breaths, and try to calm down. I know it's scary, I'm freaked out by ghosts too, but that one is not going to hurt you, all right? First you have to calm down," Deja called through the door, staring intently at the metal right in front of her face.

"She's got to _what_?" Dean asked incredulously a split second before Kat cried out.

"I have to _what_?"

Deja ignored Dean and focused on Kat. "Kat, listen to me, that spirit isn't here to hurt any of us, it's trying to warn us, to tell us something, to tell _you_ something. You're going to have to take a deep breath, calm down, and listen to what it has to say. Trust me, okay? Calm down, face it, and listen to what it's trying to say."

"You face it!" Kat shrieked.

"I would, Kat, but you're the one inside with it, you're the one who has to listen to what it has to say, it won't let you out until you do."

" _No_!"

"Kat," Deja called calmly, closing her eyes. "I know you're scared, I know it's hard, but you can do this. All you have to do is take a deep breath…look at it...and listen to what it's trying to say. Then it will be over, it will let you go, and we can get you out of here."

Deja didn't hear a reply on the other side, so she assumed Kat was listening to what Deja was telling her to do—at least she hoped she was. It was tense silence out in the hall as well, Gavin and Deja staring at the girl while the Winchesters glanced between Deja and the door.

"Kat?" Gavin called after a few long moments of silence.

"I hope you're right about this," Dean murmured to Deja.

"If there's one thing my mother taught me, it's that not all the spirits in this world are bad," Deja replied quietly, staring at the door still.

"I thought you said your family wasn't involved in hunting," Dean asked, suddenly confused.

"They weren't—but we still believed there were such things as spirits and demons and even witchcraft, though we didn't know as much about them as hunters do," Deja explained softly. A few moments after she spoke, there was an audible click, and they all backed away from the door right before it creaked open to reveal a clearly shaken Kat standing just on the other side.

"Oh, Kat," Gavin breathed in relief as Dean quickly pulled Kat out of the room, handing her off to her boyfriend while Sam and Dean checked inside for any ghosts.

There was nothing.

"One thirty-seven," Kat finally said once the Winchesters had finished checking the room.

"Sorry?" Dean said, confusion clear on his face. Kat looked to Deja.

"You were right. It whispered in my ear one thirty-seven."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, speaking at the same time. "Room number."

Sam, Dean, and Deja huddled together as Dean started going through his bag, stuffing the crowbar back inside. "So if these spirits aren't trying to hurt anyone—" Sam started to say.

"Then I was right—they're trying to help or warn people away from whatever's here that _is_ trying to hurt people. But what do you think is in one thirty-seven?" Deja asked.

"I guess we'll find out," Dean stated, zipping up the duffel before all three of them rose to their feet, turning to the two teenagers who were awkwardly standing to the side and watching them. "All right. So, now, you guys ready to leave this place?"

"That's an understatement," Kat said, drawing a small smile from Deja. Dean pointed to Sam.

"Okay, you get them out of here. I'm gonna go find room one three seven."

"I'll go with you. There's still something here, so I'd say it's best not to be alone," Deja sighed, giving Sam a little nod of reassurance as she fell into step behind Dean.

After they'd turned a corner out of sight of the others, Dean struck up conversation. "So, you're quite the little medium for someone who hates ghosts."

"Oh, shut up," Deja returned with a roll of her eyes. Dean snickered.

"No, seriously, how did you know for certain that spirit wasn't going to hurt her?" Dean asked.

Deja sighed. "My freaky sixth sense. See…there's a difference between a good spirit and a bad spirit, how they…feel, I guess would be the word for it. It's just unease, the feeling of being watched if it's a regular spirit, nothing threatening about them, per say, other than they're the undead and that's unnatural and in some cases freaky."

"And…the bad spirits?" Dean asked, looking rather weirded out by the conversation but genuinely curious.

"Well, the bad spirits…the best I can explain it is something feels wrong, and dark. Though there's even a difference with the bad spirits. You've got the vengeful spirits, the ones that are trying to settle a score—usually there's a sense of anger, and violence in the air around them." Deja shuddered. "Then there's the malicious spirits. They're not hear to settle a score, they're just here to cause harm, to kill. They feel…well…I can feel the evil, and it's not right, not at all. I pray you never know what that feels like."

"You've been calling whatever's here a malicious spirit, not a vengeful one," Dean commented. Deja nodded.

"Yeah…there's evil here. But it's not potent right now—it's like it's lurking in the shadows, and that's got me on edge."

Dean glanced down towards the gun in her hands, watching her index finger trace the side of the trigger. "So I've noticed. Just try not to shoot anything living, all right Buffy?"

Deja gently elbowed him in the side. "Shut up, I'm a professional."

"Just saying," Dean muttered, though she could see a small smile on his face as the silence settled between them again and they continued down the hall. Eventually, they found the picket-fence white door with the faded 137 painted on it in black.

"Here's our room," Deja stated quietly, turning around to put her back to Dean's and watch the hall while he pushed the door open, straining for a second against something on the other side of the door. Deja glanced behind her to look into the room, seeing a mass of papers and filing cabinets. "Well, that looks promising. How long do you think it's going to take to find whatever the spirits want us to find?"

"Unfortunately, a while," Dean muttered rather grouchily, sweeping his flashlight's beam around the room. He looked down at something by his foot while Deja kept an eye out, humming in interest. "Looks like Sanford Ellicott's office."

"Really?" Deja asked, intrigued as Dean rifled through a few files left in a still standing filing cabinet. Dean sighed, continuing to flip through the files with a pensive look on his face before he decided it wasn't what they were looking for, moving on to another cabinet, another, the piles on the desk, the wire basket behind the desk…

The entire time Dean searched the room, Deja kept her salt gun at the ready, the sensation of something wrong starting to grow stronger, but not enough so that Deja felt it was headed for them. It still felt distant from them, but that didn't mean she was about to lower her guard.

"I think I found something," Dean suddenly said, pulling at a wooden panel and easily removing it to reveal a hidden space with an old leather satchel inside.

"I'd say so," Deja commented as Dean came around to sit on the old desk. "Any idea what it is?"

"Something of Dr. Ellicott's obviously," Dean said with a sly grin, popping the satchel open. "This is why I get paid the big bucks."

Deja rolled her eyes. "We're hunters, Dean, we don't get paid at all."

"Shh, don't ruin the moment," Dean chided her, pulling out a worn journal and flipping it over. Deja backed up to sit beside him, grimacing when she saw the scrawled letters inside.

"Doctor's handwriting…isn't it lovely," she said sarcastically while Dean flipped his way back to the first page, where a title had been written.

"Patient's journal…this should give us some…"

Dean trailed off as they started flipping through the pages, and even Deja was momentarily distracted by the wicked-looking tools that were sketched into the pages and some of the gruesome procedures that were detailed as well.

"What the Hell?" Deja murmured, trying not to shudder at some of the drawings.

"All work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a _very_ dull boy," Dean quipped, though he too had a disturbed expression on his face. Deja decided not to point it out.

Something sounded in the hall, and in an instant Deja had pulled her attention away from the journal, weapon held at the ready once more as she stood up from where she'd been sitting beside Dean.

"That sounded rather ghostly," Dean commented.

"Yeah…see if you can find anything in that journal, I'll keep an eye out for Beetlejuice," Deja said softly, moving closer to the hall.

"Right…" Dean replied absently, turning his attention back to the journal. For a few long minutes there wasn't any sound other than Dean's breathing, the scrape of Deja's feet against the floor and the debris that littered it, and the occasional flipped page of the journal. Eventually, Dean sat the journal down, standing up from his seat on the desk and making his way to Deja's side.

"I think I know who your malevolent spirit is," Dean said, gesturing for her to make her way back into the hall.

"Dr. Ellicott?" Deja guessed, letting Dean take point as he led them back through the asylum's halls.

"Yahtzee. Turns out, Dr. Ellicott was preforming some seriously messed up procedures to help the patients with their anger issues. He thought if he could force them to express their rage, then they would be cured of it. However, his treatments only made them worse and worse."

"So when the patients rioted, it was them having enough of being the guinea pigs to his experiments—it wasn't against the hospital so much as against him."

"Exactly, and—bonus—the logbook said that he had a hidden procedure room in the basement where he'd work on his patients. I'm willing to bet that's where the patients stashed his body."

Deja inclined her head. "It would make sense…in a twisted way. And explain why no one ever found him."

"So, let's get Sam, go to the basement, find this hidden room, and torch us a psycho doc."

Deja chuckled. "When you put it that way, it almost sounds like it's going to be fun."

"What do you mean almost? Of course it's going to be fun," Dean retorted with a wink, laughing softly under his breath as they made their way back towards the entrance to the south wing where Sam would most likely be waiting for them. As they started making their way down the main hall, Dean tripped on a stray metal…something, and he cursed while Deja laughed at him, the sounds drowned out by the metal clang that rang through the hall. Dean had just peeked his head around the corner when he suddenly stopped.

"Oh, shit!" he exclaimed, grabbing Deja and yanking her back with him at the last second. She heard a shotgun go off and rock salt scatter everywhere as Dean brought her down into a crouch with him, instinctively shielding her from the shot with his own body. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" he growled, regaining his bearing before he shouted around the corner.

"Don't shoot, it's us!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" came, surprisingly, Kat's voice.

"Son of a…" Dean started to say under his breath as he and Deja rose to their feet, carefully making their way around the corner. They both instinctively looked at the wall lined up with where Dean's head had been, seeing the rock salt embedded into the wall and having done quite the number on the wall as well.

It might not be deadly to people, but it still hurt.

"What are you still doing here? Where's Sam?" Dean asked as he and Deja approached the two teens, Dean taking the gun from them. They were, indeed, missing Sam.

"He went to the basement, you called him," Gavin said nervously. Dean went alarmingly still.

"I didn't call him."

"His cellphone rang. He said it was you," Kat affirmed, gazing worriedly at Dean. Dean looked at Deja, who felt worry and concern squirm in her gut.

The basement.

Dr. Ellicott's lab, and most likely where his body was.

Possibly the place his spirit was confined to.

Dean looked back at the two teenagers. "Basement, huh?"

They both nodded, and Deja could see the gears turning in Dean's head as he shook the salt gun at his side. "All right…" he muttered, grabbing a handgun out of the duffle bag and putting it in an easily accessible spot while holding the salt gun and the duffle bag in one hand. "Watch yourselves," he said pointedly, looking between the two teenagers before he turned to leave. "And watch out for me."

Deja took a few steps after him. "Dean, I'm coming with you."

"Uh-uh, you're staying here with those two and keeping an eye on them while I go find Sam," Dean replied quietly. They were standing at the end of the hall, where it formed a T and split left or right.

"We both know he was lured down there, Dean. There's a chance Ellicott might have done something to him, and you're going to need backup."

"I can handle my little brother, Deja," Dean scoffed. "And we're not doing anything to Sam—we're going to burn Ellicott's bones, and that will be the end of it."

"I never said we were going to do anything to Sam, I just said you might need backup—it'll make things easier."

"No, end of story," Dean said firmly, turning to walk away. Deja dared to grab his arm, but only briefly enough to keep him from storming away.

"Dean. I'm not going to hurt Sam. You and your brother are the only people on this damn planet that I'm more than a passing acquaintance with. He's in no danger from me," Deja said firmly, holding his intense gaze that would have made a lesser person wilt and submit. "But I also want to make sure you'll be okay—not that you're not capable. It'll just be easier, faster, and _safer_ if we work together, and we can get out of here, get something to eat, and get some sleep before we hit the road again."

Dean let out a long, slow breath through his nose, jaw clenching for a moment. "Fine. But let me handle Sam if Ellicott really did do something to him."

"Okay, that's fine by me," Deja agreed. "Now…let's go find him."

"Yeah…" Dean muttered, pulling out the handgun again and checking the clip. Instead of loading more bullets inside, however, Dean removed the bullets that were in the gun, drawing a curious look from Deja. "Just in case," Dean stated when he felt her eyes on him.

Deja let Dean take the lead, mostly just watching his back as the elder Winchester led them deeper and deeper into the asylum until they found their way to the basement. It was alarmingly dark down here, but they still had their flashlight, which Dean was manning at the moment from his spot at the front. Quietly, Dean crept around the corner, eyes scoping out the hall as he started to sweep the flashlight's beam across the hall as well.

"Sammy?" Dean called cautiously, and Deja gripped the salt gun a little tighter. "Sam, you down here? Sam!"

Dean checked a space off to their right, finding nothing. "Sam?" he called again, sweeping the flashlight's beam back facing forward. Deja nearly shrieked when the light fell upon Sam, who was suddenly standing right in front of them. Even Dean jumped, raising his gun on instinct and biting back a slew of curses once it registered in his mind that it was Sam standing in front of him. "Man! Answer me when I'm calling you! Are you all right?"

Sam looked at Dean like Dean had just said he _loved_ loved him. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You know that wasn't me who called your cell, right?" Dean asked while Deja came even with Dean.

"Yeah, I know, I think something lured me down here," Sam retorted, sounding…annoyed. Dean brushed Sam's tone off, launching into the explanation that would fill him in on what Deja and Dean had found in Dr. Ellicott's office.

"I think we know who—Dr. Ellicott. That's what the spirits have been trying to tell us. You haven't seen him, have you?"

"No. How do you know it was him?" Sam asked.

"Because I found his logbook. Apparently, he was experimenting on his patients. Some… _awful_ stuff, makes lobotomies look like a couple of aspirin."

"But it was the patients who rioted," Sam returned, drawing on what Deja had been told by James Ellicott.

"Yeah, they were rioting against Dr. Ellicott." When Sam continued to give Dean a blank stare, Dean sighed and tried to explain a little more. "Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme-rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger, then they'd be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier. So I'm thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop, the kids in the seventies—making them so angry they become homicidal."

Dean paused, letting Sam absorb that before he moved forward, gesturing for Deja to follow him. "Come on, we've got to find his bones and torch him."

"How? The police never found his body," Sam asked their retreating backs. Dean turned back.

"The logbook said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here somewhere where he'd work on his patients. So, if I was a patient, I'd drag his ass down here and do a little work on him myself."

"I don't know, it sounds kind of—"

"What, crazy?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, exactly," Dean said with a snicker, opening a door and making his way inside, Deja at his heels. It took a moment for Sam to follow them in, and while Dean stood in the middle of the room Deja made her way to the wall furthest from the door, studying the surface closely for any abnormalities.

"I told you I looked everywhere. I didn't find a hidden room," Sam said skeptically as he came in beside Dean.

"Well, that's why they call it hidden," Dean said simply. All three of them fell silent for a moment, and Deja turned her head when she heard a faint whistling sound coming from somewhere in the room.

"You hear that?" Dean asked, turning to the wall at his back.

"What?" Sam asked, sounding even more annoyed now.

Dean's flashlight followed the bottom of the wall until he suddenly paused, crouching down so he could place his hand near the floor and feel for a draft.

"There's a door here," Dean announced. Deja looked away from Dean and towards Sam just in time to see Sam suddenly lift the salt gun in his hand so that it was pointing at Dean.

"Sam…" Deja said warily, her posture shifting from semi-relaxed to wary and tense. Her tone immediately caught Dean's attention, and Dean looked aback to see the barrel of Sam's sawed off shotgun level with his face. Deja took a cautious step closer but no more, watching as a few drops of blood fell from Sam's nose, which he carelessly wiped at without breaking his gaze away from Dean. Deja looked at the elder Winchester in worry, noting that Dean had yet to move.

"Step back from the door," Sam said in a low, dangerous tone.

Dean slowly stood to face Sam, gaze flickering from Sam's face to the gun trained on him. "Sam, put the gun down."

"Is that an order?" Sam asked, jaw clenched.

"It's more of a friendly request," Dean stated, trying for a humorous edge, even though there was nothing humorous about the situation at hand. Sam raised the gun higher, leveling it at Dean's chest.

"Cause I'm getting pretty tired of taking your orders," Sam said a little louder, and Dean instinctively tensed at having a gun leveled on him. Deja took another step towards Sam, and Dean's gaze flickered towards her warningly.

 _Let me handle Sam if Ellicott really did do something to him._

"I knew it…Ellicott did something to you, didn't he?" Dean asked quietly.

"For once in your life, just shut your mouth," Sam growled.

"What are you gonna do, Sam?" Dean asked pointedly. "The gun's filled with rock salt. It's not gonna kill me."

Dean had hardly finished speaking when Sam fired, hitting Dean square in the chest and sending him back with enough force to throw him through the hidden door and into the secret room they'd been looking for.

"Dean!" Deja shouted. No reply.

"No, but It'll hurt like Hell," Sam said smoothly. Sam turned when he saw Deja move closer out of his peripherals, but before he could swing his gun her way she'd already aimed her salt gun at him.

"Drop the gun, Sam."

"What, now you think you can boss me around too?" Sam asked, a chilling, humorless smile on his face.

"Well, in this situation, I'm willing to make an exception," Deja said, stepping a little closer.

"Nice to know you're taking his side—that makes this a Hell of a lot easier," Sam said, starting to move to aim his shotgun at her. Deja moved, swinging her salt gun like a bludgeon instead of the gun it was to hit Sam upside the head and make him stumble. She grimaced, lunging forward to latch onto his gun and start wrestling him for it. Sam held fast, however, and although she held on for what she felt was an admirable length of time, the young man who was much bigger than her managed to wrestle his weapon away from her, throwing her into the metal shelf close to the door in the process. She went down with a cacophony of clangs as whatever had been on the shelf fell to the floor with her, and she gasped in pain from the impact.

"I'll deal with you in a minute," Sam growled at her before he turned his attention back to Dean, who sounded like he was stirring. Deja hissed in pain, working on shoving it all into a corner of her brain as she slowly started to push herself onto her knees. She could hear Dean coughing in the hidden room.

"Sam—we've got to burn Ellicott's bones and all this will be over, and you'll be back to normal," Dean groaned.

"I am normal," Sam replied calmly. "I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? Cause you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Cause you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?"

Deja made it to her knees, then weaved as she carefully pulled herself up. Damn, she was going to have some serious bruises from that shelf…

"This isn't you talking, Sam," Dean grunted.

"That's the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own—I'm not pathetic, like you."

"So what are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna kill me?"

"You know what, I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago!"

Deja glanced at her discarded shotgun in the corner, judging the distance and deciding that perhaps she could retrieve it before Sam realized she was up and moving.

"Well then, here, let me make it easier for you…" There was a sound of rustling, and Deja carefully crept into view of the doorway in time to see Dean offering his handgun to Sam. "Go on, take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt," Dean told Sam, his breathing shallow from pain.

"Take it!" Dean said with more force when Sam didn't immediately take the handgun. Deja quietly slipped to her discarded gun, managing to pick it up without a sound as Sam tossed his salt gun aside and leveled the handgun on Dean. Deja carefully straightened up and held her gun with the barrel pointed away from her but the stock pointing in Sam's direction, the weapon held firmly in her hands.

She also had a perfect view of what was happening, and even though she didn't know the Winchesters that well, what she witnessed shook her more than she was willing to admit out loud.

Dean stared down the barrel of the gun Sam held on him without any hesitation, the expression on his face well beyond words. "You hate me that much? You think you can kill your own brother?"

Those two sentences were like bullets fired on Deja, even though they were aimed at Sam, and it froze her behind the younger Winchester for a split second.

"Then go ahead…pull the trigger," Dean said quietly, and that invitation snapped Deja back to the present for the time being. She took another step that brought her into range, gripped the gun tighter in her hands…

"Do it!" Dean barked when Sam didn't immediately pull the trigger, and Deja heard the gun click.

And click again.

Sam didn't get a chance to pull the trigger again, because Deja slammed the stock of her sawed off hard enough into his head to send the younger Winchester unconscious to the ground. Deja grimaced, looking down at Sam.

"Sorry Sam," she said honestly before looking at Dean. The expression on his face wasn't one that she'd forget.

He hadn't really thought Sam would pull the trigger.

Least of all pull it twice, probably more times if Deja had given him the chance.

Deja didn't comment, knowing Dean wasn't the type of person who would like her pointing that out, especially mere seconds after Sam had tried to kill him. Instead, she held her hand out to him and hauled him to his feet, giving him a moment to steady himself. There was salt all over him, especially on his face, and he clutched at his side.

"You all right?" she asked.

"Yeah…that's just going to hurt like a bitch for a while," Dean grunted. "You?"

"I'll be bruised, but I'll live."

Dean sighed, looking at his unconscious brother for a second before he grabbed his duffel. "Come on, let's just get this over with—I'm ready to get out of here."

Deja checked her gun to make sure it was all set, handing Dean Sam's discarded salt gun from off the floor before she made her way to the left side of the room while Dean started checking the right, pulling back curtains and probably expecting to find a body or a ghost behind every single one.

Now that her mind wasn't completely focused on Sam trying to kill Dean, Deja could feel the sense of evil and wrongness in the air, and she looked towards Dean in concern. "Dr. Ellicott is definitely hanging around somewhere nearby…be careful," she warned him, checking behind a dresser in a corner.

"I figured as much," Dean replied, sounding a little distracted. A few moments later, she heard him make a heaving noise before coughing. "Oh, that's just gross…I found him."

Deja turned from where she was searching, making her way to where Dean was crouched in front of a white cabinet. Shoved inside the small space was a rotten corpse, and Deja stayed a safe distance away. "Uhg…let's just salt and burn him and get out of here…I'll keep an eye out for the Doc's other half."

Dean didn't need to be told twice, taking the salt out of his duffle bag and quickly dousing the corpse with it before adding the gasoline. "Soak it up…" Dean murmured. Deja looked down at Dean's discarded flashlight as it started to flicker.

"Dean…we're being watched…" Deja said quietly, holding her gun at the ready as her eyes started searching the room. Dean looked up from what he was doing, then suddenly reached out and shoved you forward.

"Move!" he shouted at the same time, throwing himself backwards out of the path of a gurney that had suddenly launched itself at the pair. Dean landed hard on his back, then almost instantly started to cry out in pain. Deja whipped around to see Dr. Ellicott holding his head, small bolts of electricity dancing from his fingers to Dean's head.

"What's up, Doc?" Deja shouted as she pulled the trigger, dissipating Dr. Ellicott with one round. Dean groaned, rolling onto his side.

"What's up, Doc? Really?" he asked, clearly disappointed.

"Shut up and just burn his bones already!" Deja snapped, turning wildly as she waited for Dr. Ellicott to make another appearance. Dean reached into his bag, pulling out his lighter and flicking the little flame to light. Deja turned again and found herself face to face with Ellicott, but as he reached for her, Dean set his corpse on fire, and Ellicott froze, allowing Deja to stumble backwards out of his reach. Dean and Deja watched in horrified fascination as Ellicott's ghost slowly blackened and shriveled until it became stiff as a board and fell to the ground with a loud thud, dissolving into a fine dust that scattered across the floor.

Dean and Deja shared a look, and over in the corner, Sam stirred. Dean pushed himself to his feet, making his way over to Sam, who was rubbing the back of his head.

"You're not gonna try and kill me, are you?" Dean asked Sam.

"No…" Sam said quietly, looking quite lost and befuddled, though from the look in his eyes he remembered exactly what he'd tried to do.

"Good…cause that would be awkward," Dean muttered, helping Sam to his feet. Deja started gathering the scattered weapons, packing the Winchesters' things into their duffel bag and before making her way over to them.

"Let's just get out of here," she said tiredly, shoving the duffel into Dean's waiting arms. She grimaced as Sam continued to rub his head. "Sorry about the bump, Sam…you might want to put some ice on it."

"It's, ah…it's okay. Sorry for…throwing you…and…"

"If I hear one more apology, I'm going to hit someone, now let's get out of here," Dean groaned, staggering out the hole his body had made in the wall a few minutes ago.

"Yes, sir," Deja said with a small smile, following close behind him.

* * *

After they had left the asylum, the group didn't spend much time talking. Dean hardly even allowed any time for Sam to apologize for what happened in the asylum and tell Dean that what he'd said hadn't been true. Neither Sam nor Deja believed that Dean believed Sam hadn't meant everything he said, but everyone was too tired to argue, and Dean had blatantly said he wasn't in the mood for any _sharing and caring_. So, they had packed their things into their respective cars and made their way back to the motel, going into their own rooms without any further conversation.

After a long, hot shower, Deja sat cross legged on the bed in one of her old long sleeves and a pair of sweats, staring at the floor with a tequila bottle in her hand.

She couldn't get the look on Dean's face out of her head, or his words.

 _You hate me that much?_

Drink.

 _You think you can kill your own brother?_

Drink.

The look on his face when Sam actually pulled the trigger…

Drink.

Why was this affecting her so deeply?

Drink.

… _you see Sam has what you once had, and he's not appreciating how good of a thing it is, which bothers you…_

Drink.

And she'd been truly worried about Dean when he'd been hurt.

Drink.

 _Did you stop to think that maybe you were tired of being alone and wanted some human interaction again? Wanted friendship?_

Drink.

 _It's safer to be alone._

Drink.

And so the vicious cycle continued until Deja managed to drink herself into enough of a stupor to fall into a dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 6: Scarecrow

When the pounding began on Deja's door, she didn't immediately respond, confusing it for the pounding in her head as she came to. She groaned, burying her face into her pillows for a few seconds before she pushed herself up onto her elbows, keeping her pounding head in the pillows.

"Hold on," she called, grimacing at how wrecked she sounded. It was indeed a nasty hangover, and as she tried to maneuver herself to sit upright the world spun.

"Are you all right in there?" she distantly heard Dean's voice ask from beyond the door while she braced herself against the bed.

"Yeah, just…a little hungover…give me a minute to get to the door," she answered. Once she was certain she wouldn't trip over herself she got to her feet and made her way to the door, removing the chain and unlocking the door before she turned away and started making her way to the bathroom sink. "It's open," she called over her shoulder as she moved. Once she reached the sink she washed out last night's glass and filled it with water instead, making her way to her back and searching for her Midol.

Dean stepped inside after her invite, honing in on her and letting out a low whistle. "You look terrible."

"Thanks, Dean, that's what every woman wants to hear," she muttered as she managed to find the little pill bottle and started fighting the lid. Dean watched her struggle for a few seconds before stepping forward and pulling the bottle for her grasp, earning a frustrated sigh from her.

"What did you do, put the local bar out of stock?" Dean asked as he easily opened the bottle and returned it to her hands.

"I hit the tequila a little too hard," she said simply, popping the pill in her mouth and taking a large drink of her water. "There, that should help the headache…"

Dean studied her closely. "I thought you only hit your tequila storage on hard cases."

"Mm," Deja hummed in acknowledgement, taking another drink.

"I don't remember anything about the asylum being particularly difficult."

"Nah, the job wasn't hard…and before you suggest it, it wasn't you or Sam either. I'll let you know if you two drive me to drink," she told him with a chuckle. "Oh…no, it was just a rough night, and I drank a little more than I should have."

"Well…next time you want to hit the bottle, how about you tell me so I can be the drinking buddy that keeps you from ending up smashed like this the next morning," Dean told her, sounding like a scolding parent.

"I'll take it under consideration," Deja replied, downing the rest of her water. "So…while I wait for the medicine to kick in…what brings you to my sad display of _The Morning After_?"

Dean snickered. "You're missing the dead body for that."

Deja pointed a finger at him. "I'm pretty sure you're about to supply me with one. You've already got another case, don't you?"

Dean took up a position across from her, leaning against the wall. "Yeah, we do. Dad just called us, and he gave us some names."

"Wait, he called this time?" Deja asked, holding the cold glass to her forehead as she gazed at Dean. Dean nodded, and Deja was torn between asking if they were able to get anything out of their dad and asking about the job. "Did he mention anything other than the case, did he say where he was, what he was doing?"

Dean sighed, looking rather agitated. There must have already been conflict brewing between him and Sam over this one phone call. "Not really—he's hunting the thing that killed our mom, the demon that killed her, so he couldn't tell us where he is…and he asked us not to look for him. But I'd rather focus on the job he gave us right now."

Deja inclined her head, deciding Sam was probably giving Dean enough grief already over all of this. "Okay, I just wanted to ask first. So, these names—what did you and Sam find out?"

"They're three different couples from different towns, different states—Washington, New York, Colorado—who all went missing. They each took a road trip cross-country, didn't arrive at their destination, and were never heard from again."

Deja stood, headed for the sink again. "I'm guessing there's something else to go on other than couples who went missing on a road trip."

Dean stayed where he was standing, watching her as she moved about the motel room. "All of their routes on their trips took them through the same part of Indiana, always on the second week of April, one year after another after another."

"And this is the second week of April now…considering that sounds rather ritualistic, I'm guessing we're going to prevent another disappearance." Deja sighed, waiting until her glass was full to turn back around, leaning in the doorway to look at Dean. "If we're going to make it to Indiana in time to actually stop something from happening we're going to have to haul some ass."

"Exactly. Think you're going to be good to drive? I'm sure it won't hurt if you leave whenever you're ready, you'll catch up soon enough," Dean suggested. Deja waved a hand.

"Nah, I'll leave with you—I'll be fine once my medicine kicks in. That's the only part that's really killing me is the headache."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Dean said slowly. "Don't wreck your car or anything trying to push yourself, all right?"

"Dean, relax. I know my limits. This hangover sucks, but I'll be ready to go, don't worry."

Dean rolled his eyes, watching her for a few moments before he spoke again. "How's the, uh…" He paused, searching for a word before he gave up on the attempt and switched tracks. "Sam said you hit the shelf pretty hard."

"Oh, that," Deja laughed. "I'm definitely bruised, a little sore, but I'll live—my hangover sucks more than the bruises, honestly. How's his head."

Dean groaned dramatically. "He keeps whining and complaining, going on and on about how much it hurts! He even asked me to put him out of his misery."

Deja laughed again. "In other words, he's fine. Good to know."

"There really is a bump, though, you almost can't tell cause of his shaggy hair, but his hair sticks out oddly around it." Dean smiled when that drew another laugh from her, then straightened from his spot against the wall. "Well, I'll leave you to your recovery—go ahead and knock on our door when you're fit to leave."

"Will do," Deja promised, and Dean let himself out of the room as she started to pack up what belongings were laying about.

* * *

Deja almost drove on without Sam and Dean.

She was driving ahead of the two for once, and Sam was driving the Impala behind her. It was dark, and they'd been on the road for several hours by now. Still, she'd had no warning that the Impala had stopped, just happening to glance in her driver's side mirror and notice the Impala wasn't there any more. Worried, Deja did a quick U-turn and started back at a slow pace until she saw the Impala again. It was parked off the side of the road, and Sam and Dean were still inside. Deja's headlights set the car aglow enough that she could see Sam and Dean talking heatedly inside. Grimacing, Deja pulled off the other side of the road directly across from them, unsure if she should simply stay in the car and wait for the argument to be over or get out of the car and see what was going on.

That decision was made for her when suddenly Sam got out of the car, prompting her to do the same, especially when a few seconds later Dean was getting out as well. The air was charged with tension, and her frown deepened.

"You're a selfish bastard. You know that?" Dean told Sam sharply as Sam opened the trunk of the Impala. Dean's tone made Deja stay with her car, though she was watching the exchange with furrowed brows. "You just do whatever you want, you don't care what anybody thinks."

"That's what you really think?" Sam asked, pulling his backpack onto his back.

"Yes, it is," Dean said firmly, jaw clenched.

Sam scoffed in disbelief, grabbing two more bags out of the trunk. "Well, this selfish bastard is going to California."

As if Deja wasn't already surprised enough, Sam started to _walk_ in the opposite direction.

"Come on, you're not serious," Dean scoffed.

"I am serious," Sam replied without looking back.

"It's the middle of the night!" Dean shouted at him. Sam didn't reply and simply continued to walk. "Hey, I'm taking off. I _will_ leave your ass, you hear me?"

Sam finally turned around, raising his arms in a clear _I don't care_ gesture. "That's what I want you to do."

Dean and Sam stared at each other for several long moments, neither of them budging before something in Dean shifted. "Goodbye, Sam," Dean said stiffly, pulling the key out of the trunk's lock, slamming it shut, getting in the car, and peeling away. Sam watched him driving away, then looked at Deja expectantly as she stood frozen on the side, trying to decide what to do.

"You should probably go before you fall behind," Sam called, turning away to continue walking in the opposite direction.

"Sam…" Deja said, though Sam didn't reply, so she started moving towards him and called a little louder. "Sam."

Sam turned around. "I'm not going with him. Our dad's somewhere in California, I'm going to go find him, I don't _care_ if he ordered us not to," Sam said heatedly as Deja finally reached him.

"I'm not trying to stop you," Deja soothed, heaving a sigh and glancing in the direction of the Impala's route. The road was veiled with fog, so she had to speak quickly before she fell too far behind. "Look…you do what you think is right, always do what you think is right, I'm not saying differently. Just be careful, okay? Watch yourself. And keep walking if you end up at a crossroads, don't go making any demon deals," she finished with a small laugh.

That earned a smile from Sam, and he shifted his duffel bag on his arm. "Thanks."

Deja smiled, clapping him on the arm briefly. "I mean it, Sam, take care. Call if you need anything. And…" Deja hesitated, scratching absently at her ear before she decided to go for it. "Cut your brother some slack, okay? He's trying his best, and from what I've seen he's a damn good older brother. You're lucky to have him."

"Well, if he'd take some responsibility and stop blindly following orders," Sam said irritably, starting to turn away.

"He does have a mind of his own, Sam," Deja said quietly, daring to draw upon what was said in the asylum. She waited until Sam turned to face her again to continue. "And he's doing what _he_ thinks is right. As for responsibility, he's your older brother, Sam, to him _you're_ his responsibility, and always will be."

"How would you know?" Sam asked tersely, obviously not wanting to hear this right now.

"Because I _had_ an older brother. And I was an ungrateful younger sibling that didn't realize just what he did for me, how much I had meant to him, until it was too late," Deja said flatly, holding his gaze with unrelenting intensity. The shock on Sam's face was astounding, but Deja didn't stop there. "He's trying, Sam, he really is. And being stuck in a middle ground between another sibling and a parent is Hell in normal circumstances, I'm willing to bet it's even worse in a hunting family. So, yes, cut him some slack."

Deja sighed, looking down at her feet. "I have to go before I fall too far behind. Take care, Sam. Tell us when you reach Cali," Deja finished before she turned and made her way back to Rosanne, starting her up and making a tight U-turn to get back on the road.

* * *

Dean slowed down considerably when he reached the winding roads of Burkitsville, Indiana, glancing back for the thousandth time to see Deja's Corvette right behind him. When he'd left Sam on the side of the road, he'd glanced back at some point and realized that Deja's car wasn't right behind him. For a few tense minutes, Dean thought that both of them had left him, and that thought hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

The relief he felt when eventually Deja's car reappeared behind him…well, the fact that he kept looking back to make sure the white Stingray was still there spoke for itself.

Dean parked the Impala on the side of the road next to a gazebo just before a small strip of stores, a café on his left and a general store right across the road in front of him. Before he'd even turned off the engine, he reached into his coat pocket for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he landed on Sam. Dean looked at his brother's picture for a few moments, thumb hovering over the call button before he decided against it, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket before shutting off the engine and getting out of the car.

Deja had reached the back-left door by the time Dean got out of the car, so he didn't need to wait for her, giving her a small half smile. "Maybe we'll finally get some luck with this town," she offered, returning Dean's smile.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean said, though after several busts he wasn't going to get his hopes up. "Let's start at Scotty's."

The pair made their way towards the small café, noting an older man who was sitting in a chair out front. As they approached, the man turned his attention towards them, his expression morphing from what had been a deep scowl to a bright—and in Dean's opinion, completely fake—smile, standing up from his chair.

"Can I help you folks?" he asked pleasantly, looking between Dean and Deja. Dean and Deja shared a glance, Deja giving him a little half-shrug to tell him to go ahead and speak.

"Um, yeah, I'm John Bonham," Dean gestured to Deja.

"I'm Lisbeth Salander," she said.

"Scotty," the man said, holding his hand out for them to shake. He pointed at Dean. "Isn't John Bonham the drummer for Led Zeppelin?"

Dean was taken aback for a moment, and beside him, Deja laughed under her breath. "Wow…good. Classic-rock fan," Dean said with a small laugh, brushing off the incident with ease.

"He doesn't hear that nearly as much as he should," Deja chipped in with a smile. Dean wanted to return with a good comeback, knowing she was making a jab at him and Sam using rock star alias all the time, but he wasn't going to blow their cover for a witty remark.

"What can I do for you two?" Scotty asked.

Dean reached into his coat pocket, unfolding the missing persons' flyers they'd been showing of the couple that disappeared last year.

"Have you seen these people by any chance?" Deja asked as Dean handed the flyers over. Scotty looked at the two papers briefly before handing them back.

"Nope. Who are they?"

"They're friends of ours—went missing about a year ago."

Deja nodded. "They came somewhere through here on a road trip. We already asked around Scottsburg and Salem, so here we are."

Scotty shook his head. "Sorry I can't help you, I've never seen them. We don't get many strangers around here."

"That's too bad," Deja said with a sweet smile. "It looks like a nice café you have here."

Scotty straightened proudly. "I like to think so. You know, the weather's cold and wet today, so if you need a place to warm up just stop on by—we've got the best apple pie in the state."

"Well, I think I know where we're going to eat," Dean said simply.

"Later," Deja chided him, pulling at his sleeve. "Come on, we need to keep asking."

"Right, but later—"

"You can get some pie," Deja said with a roll of her eyes. "Now come on," Deja said, pulling him away from Scotty and towards the next closest building down the current side of the street.

* * *

"You sure they didn't stop for gas or something?"

Deja and Dean had checked store after store after store, flashing the flyers and hoping that someone would say that they recognized the couple in the photo. Everyone was being nice to them, which was starting to get a little creepy because _literally_ everyone was being nice to them. Despite all the manners, everyone swore they hadn't seen the couple, though there were a few people Dean wasn't convinced were telling the truth.

Now Deja and Dean stood side by side in the general store that also acted as a gas station and repair shop, speaking to the older couple who owned the shop.

"Nope, don't remember them," the man said. "You say they were friends of yours?"

"That's right," Dean said with a nod. Surprisingly, his answer came from the stairwell as a blonde young woman descended the stairs, a stack of boxes in her arms.

"Did the guy have a tattoo?"

Deja and Dean both looked up, caught off guard. "He did," Deja said, and as the young woman drew nearer Dean handed her the flyers. She only had to look at the flyers for a second before looking back at the store owners and shoving the flyers their way.

"You remember? They were just married," she said with a note of exasperation. Dean looked at the couple who owned the shop, watching closely as the man put his fist to his mouth thoughtfully, looking at the papers with brows furrowed.

"You're right. They did stop for gas—weren't here more than ten minutes."

 _Finally, a lead!_

"Do you remember anything else?" Dean asked out loud.

"Well, I told them how to get back to the interstate. They left town."

"Could you point us in that same direction?" Dean asked.

"Sure," the man said. "Take Laski straight out of town, and turn right on orchard road."

"Thank you so much," Deja said with a smile, though it seemed a little strained. She must have still felt awkward about the pair mistaking them for a couple at first. "Come on, John, looks like we're leaving town."

Dean frowned. "I thought we were going to grab a bite to eat at Scotty's before we left?"

"You just want the pie," Deja teased with a small smirk.

"Well, yeah!" Dean said incredulously.

Deja turned to the couple with a laugh. "I saw the sign said you're a bakery, too? Any chance you have any apple pies?"

The older woman smiled at Deja. "Of course, dear. The apples come from the same place Scotty's does."

Deja fished out her wallet. "One whole pie to go, then."

Dean looked at her in shock. "Whoa, D—Lisbeth, you don't have to do that, really, I can pay for it myself if I—"

"Oh, just shut up and take the free pie," Deja said in exasperation, handing her credit card over to the older man to run while his wife packed up a whole…piping hot...apple pie.

 _I think I'm in love with this woman_.

Deja took the white box from the older woman, who was smiling at Deja knowingly as she pushed the box into Dean's hand.

"Now I better not ever hear you say I've never done anything for you," she said seriously.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean replied, still surprised that she'd bought him a whole pie without a second thought. "You are a saint."

"And don't you forget it. C'mon, let's go."

Dean didn't even argue, he simply followed her out the door with his hot pie in hand.

"So, what brought on buying me a pie?" Dean asked as they made their way to the cars. Deja shrugged.

"You looked like a kicked puppy when I suggested leaving without getting any pie. It made me feel guilty, damn it. Just don't expect this to become a thing," Deja muttered, flipping through her keys. Dean watched her for a moment, noticing how tense she was.

"Are you all right? You seem tense…and eager to leave this place behind, might I add."

Deja looked up at him, key in hand. "These people…I've lived in a small town before, smaller than this—we only had a café, post office, and a bank. They're too nice. No place is this perfect. It's like something out of a horror movie, maybe a Stephen King work."

"Yeah, I've noticed they tend to be too nice myself…" Dean replied, putting the pie safely in the passenger seat of the Impala.

"And did you notice how quickly that couple in the general store became indifferent once they realized we _weren't_ a couple?" Deja pointed out.

"You think this is where our couples have been vanishing," Dean said, jumping to the end of her current line of thought.

"I'm starting to wonder, yes. And if not here, then someplace really close to here," Deja finished.

"We should get moving, then," Dean replied, getting in the Impala and hearing Deja get in her Corvette behind him. Dean glanced sadly at the pie before he pulled back onto the road.

It was probably going to be cold by the time he got to cut into it.

* * *

They hadn't been on the road long when Dean heard something going off in the back seat, and he had to do a double take before he realized he was hearing his EMF reader.

"What the Hell?" he muttered, trying to pull the EMF out of his duffel back while driving. After several failed attempts, he pulled over to the side of the road, Deja coasting to a stop in front of him while he reached back to get the EMF. When he pulled it out of the duffel, it was lighting up like crazy, the buzz nearly constant. Deja got out of the car ahead of him, though Dean got out of his car before she could reach him.

"My EMF is going crazy," Dean told her, lifting the device so she could see. Deja's brows furrowed, and she looked around at their surroundings, as did Dean. Both their gaze fell on the orchard on the right side of the road at about the same time, and Deja sighed.

"Of course…let's go check out the orchard," she said with a shake of her head.

"C'mon," Dean said, tucking the EMF away and taking the lead as they crossed the road and hopped the fence to get inside the orchard. Dean noticed when Deja walked a little closer to him than normal, arms wrapped around herself as she looked around at the orchard, gaze never lingering in one place for very long. However, it was Deja who brought it up, not him.

"This place is giving me _Children of the Corn_ vibes, and I hate it," she muttered with a noticeable shudder.

"That's a good movie," Dean said absentmindedly, continuing to weave through the trees.

"That movie scarred me when I was a kid," she replied bitterly.

Dean gave her a look very similar to when she said ghosts freak her out. "Really? _That_ movie scarred you?"

Deja glared at him. "When I first saw that movie, I lived in a town of just over three hundred people, in a farming community, cornfields everywhere including in town, and with a lot of creepy kids that didn't like adults. So yes, it did a number on me at the time."

"Scaredy-cat," Dean muttered, turning his attention forward again.

"I will take that pie back."

"Over my dead body," Dean scoffed.

"Keep at it and that might just happen," Deja muttered.

"When did you get so grumpy? We started this day just fine."

"When we started traipsing through an empty orchard with fog rolling everywhere that we were directed to by the EMF reader with a town of too friendly people at our back, and…" Deja suddenly stopped, looking off to their right. "…an ugly ass scarecrow that's making my danger senses tingle. That, or it reminds me _way_ too much of _Children of the Corn_."

Dean frowned, pausing in place and following her gaze to the scarecrow tied to a cross a few yards away from them. He changed directions, gradually approaching the hideous looking scarecrow with a disgusted expression while Deja followed.

"Dude, you fugly," he commented once he was standing a yard in front of it.

"Who gives their scarecrow a weapon?" Deja muttered from behind him. She really didn't like this thing, did she?

Then again, the scarecrow was holding a…

Dean didn't pay much attention to what it was holding once he saw the strange design on the arm of its leathery skin, spotting a ladder by a nearby tree and placing it right next to the scarecrow. He wasn't about to admit it out loud when Deja was right behind him, but getting this close to the scarecrow made his skin crawl. He eyed the scarecrows patchwork face and black, sunken eye sockets warily for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the missing flyers they'd been showing the locals all day. He took another look at the tattoo that the guy of the missing couple had on his arm, then reached over and pulled the sleeve of the scarecrow's coat back to show that the exact same tattoo was on the scarecrow's leathery skin.

Dean looked back at the scarecrow's face, probably starting to find it just as creepy as Deja did. "Nice tat," he said quietly.

"Dean, get away from the scarecrow."

Dean looked back at Deja when he heard the strained tone in her voice, seeing worry and a little fear in her eyes as she stared at the scarecrow. "Why?" he asked cautiously.

"I just had a nasty thought, but we're going to need to chat with the locals a little more before I can give you a definite answer," Deja said stiffly, and Dean realized that her gaze was fixated on the hand scythe that the scarecrow was holding, like she expected it to move. Dean looked back at the scarecrow, slowly starting to descend the ladder.

"Right…" Dean said slowly, putting the ladder back before returning to Deja's side. He put a hand on her back and ushered her along, though she kept looking back towards the scarecrow like she had to assure herself it was still in the same place. She didn't relax until they were out of the orchard, which Dean could feel since his hand was pressed against her back. They made it to their cars before Dean stopped her, turning her around to face him. "What are you thinking?"

Deja took a deep breath. "A man and a woman disappearing at the same time of every year like clockwork, a scarecrow wearing one of the missing guy's skin which implies that they probably died in there…I want to know if this little town has been luckier than the surrounding towns. Blessed," Deja said pointedly, holding Dean's gaze with surprising intensity.

"You're thinking pagan. A pagan god."

"Most likely. Fertility sacrifice like clockwork, that's no coincidence. And I think it's the locals doing it too. It's the week the disappearances always happen, they thought we were a couple and were far too nice to us until they realized we weren't. If this town is being _blessed_ , then I'm willing to bet that they're making sacrifices to some sort of pagan god, and considering how freaked out and uneasy I was getting around that scarecrow, then I'll even bet that the scarecrow is what they're making sacrifices to if what's taking these people is a pagan god."

Dean leaned back, sizing Deja up. "I'm impressed."

Deja blushed, then shrugged. "I deal with witches the most, and paganism tends to show up a lot with witches. Now, can we please leave the creepy orchard with the possible killer scarecrow behind?"

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "How scared are you of that _Children of the Corn_ stuff?"

Deja scowled. "Enough that if He Who Walks Behind the Rows pulls you into a cornfield, there's a fifty/fifty chance I may or may not ditch your ass and run for the hills."

"Thanks for that."

"I'm being honest."

"That doesn't make it any better."

"I bought you pie."

"From people possibly sacrificing couples to a killer scarecrow, who also thought we were a couple."

Deja shuddered. "Uhg, we almost became a sacrifice. That's a charming thought."

Dean gave her a slight smile. "Get in your car, let's head back to town and see if we can confirm your theory."

"For the sake of my sanity, I hope I'm wrong," Deja muttered before getting in her car.

* * *

When they returned to town, Dean was once again in the lead, easily pulling up next to the gas pump the general store couple owned. Deja pulled up behind him to wait her turn, both of them getting out of the car as the young woman who had recognized the couple earlier came out of the shop.

"You're back," she said in surprise.

"Never left," Dean said with a shrug.

"You still looking for your friends?" the young woman asked, shoving her hands in her pockets. Dean simply gave her a nod, gaze falling on the necklace with the word _Emily_ on it.

"Mind filling it up, there, Emily?" Dean asked politely.

Emily smiled at him, grabbing the gas pump and crouching down at the rear of the Impala. Dean and Deja shared a look as Deja leaned against the side of her car. "So, did you grow up here?" Dean asked Emily casually.

"I came here when I was thirteen," she said before standing up. "I lost my parents—a car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in."

"They're nice people," Dean remarked.

"Everybody's nice here," Emily replied with a smile.

"So, what, it's the, uh, perfect little town?" Dean asked skeptically. Emily laughed, shrugging her shoulders.

"You know, it's the Boonies, but I love it. I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms, but here…it's like we're blessed," Emily said with a small shrug. Dean's gaze slid right to Deja, who was quickly masking the grimace that had slipped across her face when Emily had said blessed.

It looked like she was right.

Dean leaned against Baby. "Hey, you been out to the orchard? Seen that-that scarecrow?" he asked, trying not to think of how close he'd gotten to the possible killer pagan god with a scythe.

Emily sighed. "Yeah, it creeps me out."

"Me too," Deja finally said, shaking her head.

Dean laughed under his breath before he continued. "Whose is it?"

Emily shook her head. "I don't know. It's just always been there."

 _Wonderful_.

Dean's gaze drifted over Emily's shoulder, falling on the red vehicle with the hood popped open inside the auto shop. "That your aunt and uncle's?"

Emily glanced back. "Customer—had some car troubles."

Dean resisted looking at Deja again, a pit settling in his gut. "It's not a couple, is it? A guy and a girl?"

"Mm-hm," Emily said with a small nod.

 _Shit_ , Dean thought, looking at Deja. The pump made a quiet dinging noise, indicating that the tank was full. "Thanks, Emily," Dean told her, handing over the cash for the gas.

"I need some gas too," Deja told Emily as Dean opened the driver's door. She looked to Dean, giving him a pleasant smile. "Why don't you grab something to eat at Scotty's, John—I'll join you when I'm done."

"Right," Dean said, getting back in the car and moving it over to where he and Deja had been parked earlier by the gazebo. As he made his way towards Scotty's he glanced back towards the gas station to see Emily and Deja chatting casually while the Corvette was filled up, and he couldn't help but wonder what they were talking about.

When Dean entered the café, the first thing he saw was the couple sitting at a table in the middle of the room, a mini buffet's worth of food in front of them. Dean pretended like he didn't think it was significant, though he was actually thinking _last supper_ , giving Scotty a bright smile while the man looked at him with a flash of panic in his eyes.

"Hiya, Scotty. Can I get a coffee—black? And some of that pie, too, while you're at it. I know my friend wants a Dr. Pepper once she gets here—I'm not sure what she wants to eat," Dean said as he took a seat at the table right next to the feasting couple. While Scotty made Dean's coffee, Dean turned his attention to the couple beside him. "How you doing? Just passing through?"

"Road trip," the woman told him with a smile. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, same—my friend and I."

Scotty came back over, but he practically ignored Dean and poured the couple more orange juice. "I'm sure these people want to eat in peace," Scotty said bitingly, and Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Just a little friendly conversation," Dean said in a slightly defensive tone, watching Scotty as he walked by. "Oh, and those drinks, too, by the way. Thanks."

"So what brings you to town?" Dean asked the couple.

"We just stopped for gas, and the guy at the gas station saved our lives."

"Is that right?" Dean said with a slow nod, looking up as Deja entered the café as well, spotting Dean chatting with the couple easily and making her way over.

"Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking," the guy pitched in. "We had no idea. He's fixing it for us."

"Nice people," Dean commented while Deja took the seat opposite him. "So how long until you're up and running?"

"Sundown," the guy replied.

"Really?" Dean said slowly, leaning forward. "To fix a brake line?"

The guy seemed confused by Dean's dubiousness. "Mm-hm."

"I mean, I know a thing or two about cars, I could probably have you up and running in about an hour and wouldn't charge you anything," Dean offered. To his surprise, Deja kicked him under the table. "Ow!"

"John, that's rude," she chided him, and he looked at her in disbelief. Here he was, trying to get the couple out of the town's fly trap...

Deja looked at the couple beside them with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry about my overly-eager, competitive, grease monkey friend. He's being polite—he loves cars, he's really good with them and keeps his 67 Impala in perfect shape, and sometimes he forgets it's rude to try and steal someone else's thunder, especially when that someone else is being so kind."

"I'm not trying to steal anyone's thunder," Dean scoffed, but Deja didn't let him get much further.

"You already have some wonderful people working on your car, being kind and everything, it's sounds like you're belittling someone's kindness when you say you could do a better job," Deja said, turning the last half of her sentence towards Dean. He sighed in exasperation.

"I wasn't trying to belittle anyone—"

"I know," Deja said, cutting him off again. "But it came across that way."

Deja turned to the couple. "Again, sorry about him. Like I said, he gets carried away, but he means well."

"It's fine," the woman said.

Deja looked at Dean, who was giving her an incredulous look. He'd just been trying to get the couple out of Gatlin 2.0, and she completely shut him down.

"So, if you're car's not going to be ready until sundown, is there a place you can stay the night?" Deja suddenly asked the pair casually. The couple shared a look, taken aback.

"I'm sorry?" the woman asked. Deja blinked.

"Oh, I'm sorry, that came out weird," she said with a small laugh. "I wasn't—I just wouldn't want to travel these roads at night. They're really windy, and the deer are everywhere at night—not to mention they have a bad habit of jumping in front of or into cars instead of away."

"Do you live around here?" the man asked.

"No, but I've lived in a few rural areas like this before, and they're usually the same level of dangerous at night. That's why I usually don't drive through the country at night—I prefer to find a place to crash and simply go in the day," Deja said with a smile. The bell above the café's door rang again, and Scotty's voice suddenly rang clearly through the café.

"Thanks for coming, sheriff!" Scotty said loudly before he came to a stop beside the man, speaking in lowered voices. Several curse words started to go through Dean's head, though Deja kept her expression perfectly innocent and calm, still looking at the couple.

"I…don't think there's any kind of motel or bed and breakfast in home, so we'll just have to make it to the next town," the woman said slowly, looking at the sheriff warily.

"Well, that's a shame. Whatever happens, just be safe, okay?" Deja said warmly before the sheriff approached their table.

"I'd like a word, please," the sheriff said sternly, coming to stand beside Dean. Deja looked up at him, a perfect expression of confusion on her face while Dean tried to keep his more annoyed than angry.

"Is something the matter, Sheriff?" she asked innocently.

"Come on, we've had a really bad day, we just want to have a bite to eat," Dean added. The sheriff braced both hands on the table, leaning forward.

"You don't want to make it worse," he said in a quiet voice.

Deja looked at him evenly, her eyes suddenly steel. "I'm sorry, Sheriff…I didn't know we were breaking any rules."

"Come on, Lisbeth. He's got the _get out of my town_ look. We should probably just leave," Dean said slowly, rising to his feet. "Come on—we've got plenty more road to follow to see if we can find out what happened to Vince and Holly."

"Right…" Deja said with a sigh, getting up as well and giving the couple one last smile. "Be careful on the roads tonight—watch for deer."

"We will," the woman replied with a strained smile, and Dean felt the couple's eyes on them until they left the café.

* * *

"Well…that went horribly."

Dean and Deja stood parked on the side of the road a safe distance from Burkitsville, leaning against the Impala and sharing Dean's pie and Deja's soda—she'd already apologized for not having any beer packed. They'd agreed to lie low for the rest of the day and go to the orchard when the sun went down to make sure the couple didn't end up the next sacrifice. Once the couple was safely away from danger, and Dean and Deja managed to get some rest, they would go to a local college and see if they could find any lore on a scarecrow pagan god.

Until then, all they could do was wait.

Dean looked at Deja, a scowl on his face. "And did you have to kick _and_ insult me in there?"

"I kicked you so you would shut up before you did any damage," Deja said pointedly. "You really were being rude by normal conversation standards by that point, so I took charge. And I don't think it was a complete bust—that couple looked wary once the sheriff led us out, and not of us. At the very least we know they'll be being cautious.

"You still didn't have to kick me," Dean muttered, taking another bite of his pie.

Deja rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry for kicking you, Dean."

Dean hummed in acceptance of her apology, and the two fell into a relatively comfortable silence. Eventually, Deja broke that silence, hoping that she wasn't about to tread on a mine. "So…have you heard from Sam?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope," he said briskly. His tone let her know not to push for more, so she didn't say anything more, deciding to let the silence fall again. Surprisingly, Dean was the one who broke it, and he didn't even let the silence linger that long before he spoke.

"When Sam left…it took you a while to follow. What were you doing?" Dean asked, looking at her with an unwavering, intense gaze that threw Deja off for a few seconds.

"I was wishing him good luck…telling him to stay safe, call if he needed help and when he reached Cali…" Deja worried her bottom lip between her teeth, debating whether or not she was going to admit to the more personal part of her conversation with Sam. "And I told him that you're a damn good older brother that he's lucky to have."

Dean leaned back, processing her words with a confused furrow to his brow before he spoke. "Why would you say that?"

Deja shrugged. "Because it's true?" she offered, looking at Dean.

"Little siblings, we, ah…we tend to be ungrateful little shits every now and then," Deja started with a sad smile that quickly disappeared. "We get so used to our older siblings always being there we start to take advantage of it without realizing it, maybe even abuse it a little, it depends on the person…sometimes we don't realize just how much they do for us, how much they shield us from. But no matter how much we bicker and fight, how often we're oblivious…we still love and look up to our older siblings. We know they're always there, even if they don't agree, though sometimes we need reminding when things get really bad. We still care about them and think of them as the best person in the world, though. No matter the fight or disagreement, we always love 'em."

It was completely quiet between the two for several long minutes, and while that silence stretched on Deja kept her gaze trained on the can in her hand, her index finger absentmindedly tracing its rim.

"You kept saying we," Dean eventually said, his voice quiet and controlled, though Deja could tell there were some heavy emotions held at bay.

Deja nodded. "I had a big brother once. And I lost him like everyone else. Except…we weren't on good terms, weren't _siblings_ , when…" Deja sighed, shaking her head but keeping her gaze down. "Sometimes you don't realize what you have until it's gone, right?"

Dean didn't say anything for a long time, and Deja kept her gaze on anything but him so she could keep her composure. After several long minutes went by, Deja felt a hand lay gently on her right shoulder blade, and she finally looked up to see Dean giving her a sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, holding her gaze. "I can't imagine what that must be like."

"And I hope it stays that way," Deja replied, giving a little shrug of her shoulders. "It's okay, I…it's been a long time."

Deja let out a small huff. "Anyway, you should probably call him at some point. Sooner rather than later. By now he's probably dying of boredom on a greyhound bus playing Britney Spears."

Dean made a sound of disgust, his hand dropping back to his side. "Don't give me those thoughts."

"Fumbling flirting with a girl because of his nerdiness," Deja continued.

Dean shook his head. "He is such a nerd."

"And missing listening to his tone-deaf brother sing Metallica." That last one got his attention again, and Deja patted his arm before straightening up. "Call him, Dean. Really."

Before he could reply, Deja made her way to her car and got inside, the roof on, windows rolled up, and he watched her lean her head back against the seat and close her eyes to get some sleep before they rushed the orchard tonight.

* * *

When they reached the orchard, it was already dark, and the couple's car was already sitting empty on the side of the road. Dean and Deja got out of their cars swiftly without having to come up with much of a plan, both of them grabbing shotguns and loading them up before running into the orchard.

It was much scarier at night, especially knowing that there was a killer scarecrow among these trees that they couldn't see yet.

The sounds of a woman screaming reached their ears long before they saw the couple, Dean running at a full sprint just ahead of Deja as they headed in the direction of the screams.

They rounded a corner just in front of the couple, the scarecrow off its cross and swiftly coming at them. Deja paled noticeably, but thankfully Dean didn't see because he was standing in front of her, gun hoisted. Deja held out a hand to the couple.

"Back to your car, come on!" she said urgently, lunging forward when the couple didn't immediately respond and grasping the woman's wrist to pull her forward. "Come on!"

Dean stood his ground and fired a round at the scarecrow, and Deja looked over her shoulder, still leading the couple at a full sprint towards the orchard's exit. "Dean, that's only going to piss him off! Maybe slow him down a hair!"

Her response was Dean firing another shot at the scarecrow, but this time while Dean joined the rear of the fleeing group. Deja heard one more shot go off before Dean apparently decided he was just wasting bullets.

"Go, go!" he shouted, and Deja pulled slightly on the woman's wrist, urging her to run faster. Deja didn't dare look back, knowing that she was liable to freak out if she saw the walking scarecrow terror chasing after them.

Deja weaved between the orchard trees, forcing herself to slow down so the couple could keep up while she held tightly onto her shotgun. It wasn't until they passed the gate that Deja finally whipped around, standing side by side with Dean while the couple hid behind them, both shotguns trained back towards the orchard as they fully expected the scarecrow to continue chasing them.

"What…" the guy gasped from behind Dean. "What—what the Hell was that?"

"Don't ask," Dean said without glancing back, sounding a little shaken himself. Deja's gaze scanned the dark orchard in front of them, but she saw no movement, heard no steps, and there was no sign of the scarecrow.

"Dean…I don't think it can leave the orchard. I think we're good," she said carefully. Dean remained tense, eyes scanning the orchard like Deja before he very slowly lowered his gun. Deja turned to the couple behind them. "Your car broke down, right?"

The woman nodded vigorously, and Deja patted Dean's arm to get his attention. "Come on, let's see what we can do for their car—get them back on the road and out of here," she said pointedly, gesturing to the red vehicle that was parked off the road. The couple made their way back to their car and Deja went to hers, searching for a few seconds before she found a flashlight. Dean was already pulling out his tools, and without a word the pair got to work looking for the sabotage so the car could be repaired.

* * *

"The scarecrow _climbed_ off its _cross_?"

Dean smiled at the disbelieving tone in Sam's voice, eyes trained on the road in front of him as he spoke with Sam on the phone. It was the next morning, the couple was safely far away from Burkitsville by now, and Deja drove close behind Dean as they drove to the local college to do some research and figure out how to take care of this particular situation.

"Hey, I'm telling you, Burkitsville, Indiana—fun town."

"It didn't kill the couple, did it?" Sam asked in concern.

"No," Dean scoffed. "I can cope without you, you know, and I do still have Deja with me."

"So, something must be animating it—a spirit."

Dean shook his head. "No, it's more than a spirit. It's a god—a pagan god, anyway."

"What makes you say that?"

"Deja actually suggested it—after some questioning and our close encounter last night we know it's a pagan god for sure. There's the annual cycle of its killings, and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman, like some kind of fertility rite. The locals were actually circling Deja and I like vultures until they found out we weren't a couple. You should see these people—the way they treat couples...they were fattening last night's couple up like a Christmas turkey."

"The last meal…given to sacrificial victims."

"Yeah, Deja suggested it was a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god. She was right."

"So, a god possesses the scarecrow…"

"The scarecrow takes its sacrifice," Dean finished. "And for another year, the crops won't wilt and disease won't spread."

"You know which god you're dealing with?"

"Nope, not yet."

"Well, you figure out what it is, you can figure out a way to kill it."

"I know. We're actually on our way to a local community college. I got an appointment with a professor. You know, since I don't have my trusty sidekick geek boy to do all the research."

Sam laughed at the other end of the phone, which coaxed a smile from Dean. "You know, if you're hinting you need my help, just ask," Sam said.

"I'm not hinting anything," Dean said automatically, his voice slightly defensive. He glanced in his rearview mirror, spotting Deja's car.

 _We know they're always there, even if they don't agree, though sometimes we need reminding when things get really bad…Sometimes you don't realize what you have until it's gone, right?_

"Actually…uh…" Dean laughed softly at himself, suddenly feeling awkward as he tried to figure out how to say what he needed to. He cleared his throat, trying to keep the rising lump at bay. "I want you to know…I mean, don't think—"

"Yeah…I'm sorry, too," Sam said quietly, and Dean felt a moment of relief that Sam already knew what he was trying to say.

But it wasn't enough.

"Sam…" Dean paused when he heard his voice wobble and crack, gritting his teeth and taking a moment to make sure his voice was steady again. "You were right. You got to do your own thing. You got to live your own life."

"You serious?" Sam asked in surprise.

"You've always known what you want, and you go after it. You stand up to Dad. I mean, you always have. Hell, I wish I…" Dean stopped his words there, letting them trail off as his eyes started to sting. He shook his head slightly, letting out a slow breath before he spoke again. "Anyway…I admire that about you. I'm proud of you, Sammy."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "I don't even know what to say."

"Say you'll take care of yourself."

"I will."

Dean smiled faintly. "Call me when you find Dad."

"Okay. Bye, Dean," Sam said softly.

Dean didn't respond. He pulled the phone away from his ear and snapped it shut, keeping his gaze fixated on the road ahead of him while he waited for the sting in his eyes to stop. Once he was certain he had control of that situation, he glanced towards Deja's car in the rearview mirror.

She'd been right— _again_. He'd needed to make that call, and he was glad he had.

* * *

"It's not every day I get a research question on pagan idolatry."

Dean, Deja, and the professor they were speaking to at the local college made their way down a flight of stairs towards the professor's office, with Dean playing the hobbyist and Deja playing the friend who didn't want to wait in the car.

"Yeah, well, call it a hobby," Dean said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"But you said you were interested in local lore?" the professor asked incredulously.

"Mm-hm," was Dean's only reply.

"I'm afraid Indiana isn't really known for its pagan worship," the professor replied.

"What if it was imported? You know, like the pilgrims brought their religion over. Wasn't a lot of this area settled by immigrants?" Dean asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs. The professor nodded, and Dean continued. "Like that town near here, Burkitsville—where are _their_ ancestors from?"

"Northern Europe, I believe. Scandinavia."

"What could you tell me about those pagan gods?"

"Well, there are hundreds of Norse gods and goddesses…" the professor said slowly.

"I'm actually looking for one—might live in an orchard," Dean said simply. The professor's brow furrowed.

"Well…that would narrow it down…" The professor gestured to a room on their right, his office by the looks of it. "Why don't you two wait here and I'll go get a book I think might have what you're looking for."

"Thanks," Dean said, watching the professor disappear around the corner before walking inside with Deja. "So, any more theories yet?"

Deja shook her head. "Not really. Like he said, there are hundreds of Norse gods and goddesses—I've only got the big guys memorized—Thor, Loki, Oden, Fenrir, Jormungandr, so on and so forth."

"That last one is the giant snake around the world, right?"

"Yeah.

"Props for being able to say that without butchering it," Dean said with a shake of his head.

"Oh, it took some practice, believe me," Deja chuckled.

Dean sighed, looking idly around the room. "I hope this doesn't take too long—the town's window to make a sacrifice is almost up, I think, so they're bound to be getting desperate."

Deja patted his arm. "Don't worry, we've got this."

Deja didn't say anymore, because at that moment the professor returned with a large leather bound book in hand, dropping it onto the desk. Dean and Deja both moved closer as he opened the book, taking in fancy text and a few ancient looking sketches.

"A woods god. Well, let's see…" the professor stated, starting to flip through the pages one by one. Dean quickly stopped him when they glimpsed a picture of a scarecrow strung up on a cross in a field.

"Wait, wait, wait. What's that one?" Dean asked, pointing to the scarecrow.

"Oh, that's not a woods god, per se," the professor said, appearing ready to move on. Dean, however, placed his finger just under the top line of the text and began to read out loud.

"The V-vanir?" Dean read, stumbling momentarily over the name and looking up to make sure he was saying it right. Once he saw the professor nod to say he was correct, Dean continued. "Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Villages build effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human _sacrifice_ , one male and one female."

Dean and Deja's gazes slid towards one another, a silent communication that they both agreed that they'd found their scarecrow creature.

"It kind of looks like a scarecrow, huh?" Dean asked the professor, pointing at the picture.

The professor looked reluctant to agree as Dean turned back to the script. "Well, I suppose."

"This particular Vanir, its energy sprung from a sacred _tree_?"

"Well, pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic," the professor said with a shrug.

"So, what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? Do you think it would kill the god?"

Deja laughed, touching Dean's shoulder and giving the professor—who looked worried by Dean's question—a warm smile. "Sorry about him, he always asks the weird questions no one else would think of. John, people think that you actually believe this stuff when you ask those kinds of questions," she said, giving Dean a pointed look out of the professor's view. They were still really close to Burkitsville—for all they knew, this professor could be a local from there. Then they would be in trouble.

"Oh, of course. Yeah, you're right," Dean said, even throwing in an abashed laugh. He held out a hand to the professor. "Listen, thank you, very much."

"Glad I could help," the professor replied, shaking Dean's hand

"All right," Dean said quietly, making his way to the door with Deja right behind him.

Dean had just opened the door to leave when suddenly there was a loud thud, and Dean's head snapped back, and he fell backwards with a grunt of pain, unconscious into Deja's arms.

"Dean!" she cried out on instinct, quickly discovering that she couldn't lift him as he dropped to the ground. Her instincts went on high alert as the situation registered in her mind, and she lunged forward at the sheriff in the doorway, grabbing at the gun he'd just used to knock Dean out before he could swing the loaded end all the way around to point at Deja. While she fought to yank the gun from his hands, she brought her knee up towards the sheriff's gut, satisfied to see a look of shock cross his face that she wasn't some helpless pretty girl stuck on Dean's arm.

As soon as both feet were on the ground again, Deja twisted fast to smash her elbow into the sheriff's face, hearing a satisfied crack that was either his jaw or his nose. He loosened his grip on the weapon on instinct when the pain registered in his mind, so Deja took the opportunity to pull the weapon free and swing the stock against his head with even more force. The sheriff went to the ground as Deja unloaded the weapon with well-practiced ease, turning to face Dean again. Before she could even look at him she felt something smash against her face and her head snapped to the side as she stumbled with a loud curse.

The professor.

She'd been too occupied with the sheriff to keep an eye on him.

She hadn't even recovered from the first hit when the second blow came, and the world went dark.

* * *

"Deja…Deja, come on, wake up. Deja!"

Deja groaned as someone hand lightly smacked her face, rousing her from unconsciousness. She dimly recognized the voice as Dean's as she returned to the world of the living, feeling a hard, earthen floor beneath her.

"Deja, are you with me?" Dean asked, hand dropping to her shoulder as she finally opened her eyes. The light was terrible, and she could barely see him. "I see the sheriff got the drop on you, too."

Deja snorted. "Not the sheriff—I knocked him out. The professor got me while I was still preoccupied with the sheriff," she said quietly, gradually sitting up. "Where are we?"

"One of the local's cellars, I'd wager, judging by all the canned goods down here."

Deja sighed, returning to a laying down position and closing her eyes again. "Great…this is just how I wanted this day to go—the locals deciding to kill us via scarecrow god."

"Sacrifice us," Dean corrected, prompting her to open her eyes and glare at him. "Which is, I don't know, classier, I guess."

Deja took a moment to breathe and get her bearings before she suddenly sat up again, getting all the way to her feet this time. "All right…let's try to figure this out," she said seriously, turning to Dean.

"Killing the god or not getting killed by the god?" Dean asked pointedly, earning an exasperated sigh from Deja.

"Both," she said with a shake of her head. "First of all, the scarecrow. Its power is tied to a tree, right? And it can't leave the orchard, so maybe the tree is in that orchard. Kind of like a spirit can't stray too far from an object that's keeping it tied to our world."

"Maybe," Dean agreed, folding his arms over his chest.

"And the tree will be older than all the others, which should make it a little easier to spot. All else fails we can just torch the entire damn orchard."

"Let's make that a last case scenario," Dean told her, moving up towards the cellar door.

"Okay, well, now that we've got that settled, how the hell are we going to avoid being sacrificed to the thing?" Deja asked, watching as Dean started to ram his shoulder against the door, trying to bust it open. She figured that was his first answer when he didn't immediately respond, continuing to throw himself against the door until it became clear that wasn't going to work. He sighed, looking over at Deja.

"You've been coming up with all sorts of stuff on this case—do you have any ideas?" he asked, coming back down the stairs. Deja looked around at the small cellar.

"I don't know…do you see anything heavier than you that could be used as a battering ram? Or an axe to chop through the door?" she asked.

"No, I already looked for something like that while you were unconscious," Dean said with a shake of his head. Deja huffed, eyeing one of the mason jars that had canned applesauce inside.

"Well…at the very least…I'm not going to be unarmed," she growled, grabbing one of the jars and throwing it to the ground. Dean cursed, having not expected the sudden movement, though she ignored him and leaned down to grab a large piece of shattered glass. Carefully she shoved it into her boot, positioning it so that it wouldn't hurt her while she walked before standing up and facing Dean. "It's crude and pathetic, but it's sharp and I can make it work. I'm not being sacrificed to that thing without a fight," she said flatly.

"I believe you, Jason Bourne," Dean said. "Got any _other_ ideas?"

The cellar door suddenly groaned, and both of them looked up as the couple from the general store, the sheriff, and Scotty all appeared at the top of the cellar, guns trained down towards Deja and Dean. Both hunters glared at the group above them, not about to be caught in any kind of weak position that might involve begging or submission.

"It's time," said the woman from the general store.

"Either you come willingly, or we drag you out," the sheriff stated.

"Hello there, Isaac, Malachi," Deja said bitterly, nodding at the woman and then the sheriff. Dean snorted softly beside her, though the amusement was gone the next moment when the tell-tale sliding click of a shotgun being loaded followed her remark.

"Move, now," Scotty said. He was the one who'd loaded the gun. Deja looked at Dean, who took a slightly protective half step closer to her before they cautiously exited the cellar.

* * *

Deja sat perfectly still as she and Dean were tied to two separate apple trees next to one another with rope, and Dean with zip-ties as well just to be safe. She didn't move because there were four people with loaded shotguns, and all she had was the shard of glass in her boot—now wasn't the time to make an escape attempt.

Though with how tightly and securely they tied her hands to the tree, she was wondering if she could make an escape attempt after they left. Dean and Deja kept throwing glances at each other, both of them clearly trying to come up with a way out of this mess. Deja herself was having a hard time focusing with the chills going down her spine, the scarecrow a couple of yards behind them and radiating its evil energy like a dark beacon.

She just wanted far, far, _far_ away from this place.

"How many people have you killed there, sheriff?" Dean asked acidly as the sheriff made sure he was tightly bound. "How much blood is on your hands?"

"We don't kill them," the sheriff said flatly, and Deja let out a disbelieving snort.

"No, but you sure cover up after. I mean, how many cars have you hidden, clothes have you buried?" Dean retorted. The sheriff didn't respond, but Deja didn't let him get off so easy.

"You can try to say there's no crime on your shoulders all you want, but you're guilty of killing these people as much as if you cut them up yourselves," Deja said coldly, eyes flashing. "Looking the other way, covering it up, telling yourself it's for the _greater good_ —those are just more crimes added on to sending these people to their deaths and killing them."

"We're doing what we have to, something you wouldn't understand," the general store woman started to say, but Deja cut her off with such venom she felt multiple eyes turn to her.

"Don't you dare presume to know me—you don't know a damn thing about me. But you can know that I sure as hell will be there when all this blows up in your face, like it _always_ does when you tangle with pagan gods."

She received steely expressions in response, and after one last check to be sure Dean and Deja were tightly tied up, the group gathered their guns and left.

"I hope your apple pie is freakin' _worth it_!" Dean shouted at their retreating backs. Deja waited until the townspeople were out of sight and she'd had time to calm down to speak.

"So, do you have a plan yet?"

"I'm working on it," Dean muttered, pulling at his restraints much like Deja was doing.

"Right…" Deja sighed, testing out her restraints once more. They'd only used rope on her, so she had a slightly better chance at getting free than Dean.

That didn't mean she could.

Slowly, as Dean and Deja both struggled to get free, even trying to break the branches they were tied to with their weight at one point, night fell, and Deja's danger sense only grew stronger. Finally, she looked over at Dean, still in the same position as when they'd been dragged here, and she decided she was going to try something that was going to hurt like hell but she was desperate enough to do.

"Damn it, I'm not dying sacrificed to a _Children of the Corn_ sequel," she growled, grabbing her long sleeve with her teeth and gradually pulling it down to give her wrist a little more wiggle room, even if it was just a thin sleeve's worth.

It would have to do.

Gritting her teeth and bracing herself for the pain to come, Deja started to twist her wrist against the rope with the goal of breaking skin and hopefully cutting a little deeper, pulling down as well to try and help the friction. At first it was just uncomfortable, but once it reached rope burn level it started to be painful, and she bit back a low whine. Dean looked over at her at the sound.

"Deja, what are you doing?"

"Trying something," she ground out, biting down on her lip as she continued rubbing against and pulling at the rope.

"You've got a plan?" he asked.

"I don't see you coming up with one," she forced out.

"I'm working on it," he muttered, looking away. Deja managed to keep quiet a little while longer, though as she finally started to get closer to where she wanted to be, she started to hiss in pain, which drew Dean's attention yet again.

"Deja, _what are you doing_?" he nearly growled.

"Damn it, this hurts," Deja practically whimpered to herself instead of answering him, though she refused to give up, ignoring his concerned expression and continuing to work the rope against her wrist until finally she started to get a decent amount of blood dribbling. Deja let out a few short breaths, gaining her bearings and ignoring the part of her brain telling her to stop hurting herself as she just continued _a little longer_ , watching the blood smear along her wrist and the rope, making both surfaces slick…and once she was satisfied with her handiwork, Deja pulled down with all her might, watching as the rope peeled away from the raw, cut, bleeding skin and started to slip up, up…she tucked her thumb in…the rope squeezed against flesh and bone but the rope was slicker with her blood, easier to move and…

 _Smack!_

Deja managed to pop her hand free, her arm colliding with her leg with the force of how hard she'd been pulling down and making an audible sound.

"Yes!" she cried out in relief, drawing her foot up and fishing the glass shard out of her boot where it was stashed.

"You—damn! Hurry up, who knows how long before that damn thing moves," Dean urged her, watching as she cut through the ropes on her other hand with the glass shard. Once the frayed ends fell to the ground, Deja rushed to crouch by Dean, trying to tell herself not to look towards the scarecrow and freak herself out as she focused on his bonds.

But she couldn't help it.

As she was sawing against the rope, Deja looked back towards the cross, feeling raw panic grip her.

"Shit!" she hissed, voice so high pitched it came out sounding soft. Dean froze at her tone.

"It's not on the cross?" he asked.

"No," she replied, cutting a little more vigorously at his bonds. She got the one hand free, then moved over to the next, just putting the glass to the rope's edge when she heard the rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs to go with footsteps. Dean cursed under his breath in a sudden slew and Deja rushed to cut him free. She saw a shadow move out of her peripherals, far too close for comfort, and Deja suddenly snapped up and around the tree, spurred on by foolish bravery as she lunged at the shadow with just her damn glass shard.

The shadow grunted in surprise, but managed to knock her hand away, using her momentum against her to send her careening into an apple tree. She tensed to continue the fight, whipping around, but before she could even pinpoint where the shadow went—

"Deja?"

Deja's head snapped in the direction of the voice, and her knees almost gave out in relief when the shadow finally stepped into enough moonlight for her to see that Sam Winchester was standing before her, _not_ the townspeople or the scarecrow.

"Sam," she breathed in relief, voice cracking. "Oh, thank God, it's you. Damn it…I could have killed you!" she accused, waving the glass shard at him.

"Sam?" Dean asked from his side of the tree, flipping over with his one arm still attached to the tree since Deja hadn't really done a number on the rope. He was pulling at the rope with his free hand, looking as relieved if not more so than Deja at the moment. He practically wilted once he saw Sam standing with Deja. "Oh, oh, I take everything back I said. I'm so happy to see you."

Deja went back to Dean's side with Sam hot on her heels, and she went back to work sawing at the rope. "How did you get here?" Dean asked while Deja worked.

"I, uh…stole a car," Sam admitted, and Dean laughed despite the seriousness of their current situation.

"That's my boy!" Dean said proudly as Deja finally cut his other arm free.

"Not to put a damper on this happy reunion," Deja butted in, pulling Dean to his feet. "But is anyone watching out for the killer scarecrow?"

"What?" Sam asked, and Dean quickly grabbed Deja's wrist at the reminder. She let out a cry of pain, and Dean immediately let go, looking disturbed to find his hand slick with her blood.

"I—" Dean started to apologize, but Deja tucked her wrist to her stomach and pushed him forward with her other hand.

"You can apologize later, right now, _move_ ," she ordered, and the three started moving at a jog, not wanting to run into the scarecrow at a dead sprint.

"Wait, do you know how to kill it?" Sam asked as Dean and Deja started leading the way out of the orchard.

"Yeah, we gotta burn an old sacred tree to destroy it because that's where it gets its power."

"So, let's find it and burn it!" Sam said pointedly.

" _Hell_ no, we're getting out of here," Deja said passionately. "Right now there's a _Children of the Corn_ creature out to kill us, we're coming back in the morning when it's an inactive horror show and we can torch a tree without fear of being gutted!"

A loud snap echoed on their immediate right and Deja let out a small screech, suddenly finding herself firmly behind Dean but in front of Sam, thinking the scarecrow had caught up to them. Instead, they were suddenly flooded in lights, the general store couple on one side, and Deja saw some of the other villagers on their left.

Dean grabbed her again, this time making a conscious effort not to grab her wrist which led to him wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in another direction. "This way," he ordered, but when he tried to lead them to freedom he simply found himself with the barrel of a shotgun at his chest, the villagers cutting off all of their escape routes.

Before anything could be said, the growling sound of the scarecrow she'd tried to block out when they'd saved the couple the other night echoed around the trees somewhere close by. Dean pulled her protectively closer, and Deja didn't fight it, her gaze roaming the trees around them desperately for some sign of the scarecrow other than that damn growling.

The first instinct was to try and appeal to the humanity of the townspeople, though she was pretty sure that didn't exist anymore. The second, however, came with a revelation, and Deja felt bile rise in her throat.

"You know…the thing about pagan gods…is that they're very picky," Deja said hoarsely, pulling Dean and Sam backwards away from the general store couple. She clutched at Dean's arm. "There's only one couple here…and it's not us."

Realization had just started to dawn on the couple's faces before a shadow rounded the corner from the tree behind them, shoving a scythe right through the man's chest. The woman screamed, and Deja jumped, her grasp on Dean's arm tightening to a white-knuckled death grip. The villagers started to scatter, but the scarecrow grabbed the woman and speared its scythe right through the man's leg, dragging the two back into the depths of the orchard.

Deja suddenly pulled on Dean's arm with such an intensity that he stumbled. "Let's go!" she begged, leading the charge out of the orchard with the Winchester boys on either side of her. She practically cried in relief when she saw the gates, waiting until she was on the other side of the road to finally come to a stop, her entire body shaking as the screams and growls continued to resonate from the orchard.

"Damn fucking scary psycho Stephen King _Children of the Corn_ scarecrow shit!" she fumed, pacing circles and locking her hands together behind her head, trying to stop before she ended up hyperventilating. "Oh, oh…"

She came to a stop, bending over and bracing herself on her knees as she tried to steady herself and calm down, breathe…

Dean appeared at her side, his hands on both of her shoulders as he started coaching her through calming down. "That's it, deep breaths, calm down…"

Gradually she got ahold of herself again, straightening and running a hand down her face. "I'm not sleeping tonight. Mother of…" Deja huffed, turning to Sam and Dean. "Let's just…get the Hell out of here, and burn this entire _fucking_ orchard in the morning, and _leave_."

"We're not going to burn the entire orchard," Sam replied.

"Well…" Dean said, giving Sam an _I actually kind of agree with her_ look.

"We're not burning the orchard!" Sam reiterated. "Look, let's just get out of here and deal with it in the morning when we've all had time to calm down."

Dean and Deja both looked back at the orchard, and Deja felt the goosebumps break out against her skin. "I think our cars are still at the college. I'm not sleeping any time soon, so let's go get them," she said warily.

"Right…and after that, you're going to let me look at your wrist," Dean said seriously. Deja didn't even argue—she just wanted out of there as soon as possible.

* * *

The next morning the trio returned to the orchard with gasoline and matches in hand, starting their search for the ancient pagan tree. The sun was streaming through the trees, the birds were singing, and the place seemed sickeningly pleasant for a place where so many couples were brutally slaughtered by a living scarecrow. Despite the fact that it would be quicker to split up and search the orchard, Deja, Dean, and Sam stayed together, still shaken after the horror show the night before and reluctant to leave anyone alone.

It was near the heart of the orchard that they finally found it—an old, brown, and twisted tree, but what really gave it away was the symbols carved into its weathered trunk, symbols that Deja was able to identify as pagan. As soon as she'd cleared that up, Sam had started dousing the tree in gasoline, and Dean got a makeshift torch ready.

Once Sam had emptied the entire canister of gasoline all over the tree, Dean had offered the honor of torching the tree to Deja, who didn't even have to consider her answer. She only waited long enough for Sam to move out of the way before she put the torch to the tree and watched it go up in flames with immense satisfaction.

Now they collectively stood by the Impala, Deja's wrist treated and wrapped by Dean, gas tanks full, and full of caffeine to at least make enough of the drive to get to a town a decent ways away from Burkitsville with a motel where they could attempt to sleep. However, there was some awkwardness in the air between Sam and Dean, and Deja was just thinking about slipping back to her car to give them some privacy when they started to talk, unbothered by her presence.

"So…" Dean started, looking at Sam. "Can I drop you off somewhere?"

Sam smiled. "No, I think you're stuck with me."

Both Dean and Deja looked at Sam in surprise, having expected him to head back to California. "What made you change your mind?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed. "I didn't. I still want to find dad…and you're still a pain in the ass."

Deja laughed, shaking her head and making her way back to the car so she could let them have a little more of their moment and not interrupt them. Leaning against the hood, she gazed at the open road but continued to listen since the only sound was the faint breeze, the birds, and their talking.

"But Jess and Mom…they're both gone. Dad is God knows where. You and me…we're all that's left. So, uh…if we're gonna see this through…we're gonna do it together."

Deja smiled at the ground, feeling something warm inside her at Sam's words. _It's nice to know that he listened to what I had to say. I already know Dean did, since he called Sam the other day…_

Dean only let the silence linger for a few moments before speaking in a serious tone. "Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful. Come on."

Sam shoved Dean's hand away when he tried for an emotional hug, and Deja laughed at the pair again, looking up to see that Dean was laughing too.

"So where to next, boys?" Deja asked.

Dean heaved a large sigh, looking down the road. "The first motel at least fifty miles away from this place."

"Amen," Deja said with another laugh. "Let's make things interesting—last one there has to buy dinner."

"You're on!" Dean said instantly, and all three quickly got in their respective cars, engines roaring to life before they peeled out onto the open road and left the nightmare that was Burkitsville far behind them.


	8. Chapter 7: Faith, Part 1

Deja pulled in behind Sam and Dean next to the old, broken down house with weeds rapidly overtaking it. The trio moved quickly, knowing that they only had a limited window of time while the Rawhead was inside the house to stop him. Deja reached behind her into her trunk, pulling out her taser pistol and a flashlight while Sam and Dean did the same in front of her. She checked the voltage one more time, making sure it was still at 100,000 volts before she stepped out of her car.

"Remember, you've only got one shot with these things, so make it count," Dean reminded them all as he shut the trunk.

"We know—come on, this thing needs to die," Deja stated, following the two into the old house and heading right for the basement. They clicked on their flashlights and held their tasers at the ready as they busted open the door to the run down house's basement, Dean taking the lead, followed by Deja, and then Sam. The ground was filthy and covered in debris and weathered furniture, and Deja grimaced to see a lot of water on the floor.

They'd have to be careful where they fired their tasers.

Dean took the front as they slowly crept deeper into the basement, Sam watching their backs while Deja kept an eye on the sides and dark corners, not wanting to be caught off guard by the ugly thing.

Dean suddenly came to a halt, his flashlight beam swinging around to center on a wardrobe in the room ahead of them as it rattled. Slowly, Deja and Dean approached the wardrobe, keeping their footsteps light while Sam continued to watch their back, though he kept glancing towards the wardrobe, ready to act if by some weird coincidence both Dean and Deja missed.

"On three," Dean breathed into Deja's ear as they crept closer, tasers trained on the wardrobe. Deja paused just long enough to make sure she wasn't standing in water before she nodded. "One…two…three!"

Dean grabbed the top of the bowed doors, yanking it open and immediately training his gun on the contents. Two high pitched screeches resonated from within as the doors were flung open, and Deja immediately lowered her taser once she saw there were children inside, a boy and a girl, looking up at the three hunters in terror.

"is it still here?" Sam whispered to them, and the two children nodded mutely. Dean leaned down, taking the boy's hand.

"Okay. Grab your sister's hand, come on, we're going to get you out of here," he assured them, and the boy latched onto the girl's hand, pulling her out behind him. "Let's go, let's go," Dean told them in a hushed whisper, and he and Sam switched positions, Dean taking up the rear while Sam took point, leading the children to the stairs. Deja kept an eye on the kids, making sure nothing tried grabbing them from the shadows.

"All right, go!" Sam ordered once their group had reached the stairs, the two children sprinting up the wooden boards with Sam close behind them.

In true horror movie fashion, a leathery hand suddenly reached out from under the stairs, grabbing Sam's ankle and yanking him down the stairs.

"Sam!" Dean shouted.

The girl screamed and Deja caught Sam, pointing at the girl up above them. "Keep going!" she called while Dean rounded the corner, aiming into the darkness.

"Sam, get them out of here!" Dean ordered, and Deja helped Sam back to his feet, pushing him forward up the stairs.

"Go, I'll cover him," she promised, retreating back down the stairs. They heard Dean's taser discharge, but there was no whoop of victory, which let them know he hadn't got it.

"Here, take this," Sam called, tossing his still-loaded taser down to Dean before he went back up the stairs with the children and Deja returned to Dean's side, taser aimed and ready as she stood at his back. They moved to the right side of the basement, Dean creeping towards another room stuffed with objects while Deja headed closer to her right, thinking of coming around the pile of junk the Rawhead might be hiding in.

"Come on…" she heard Dean mutter on the other side of the pile on her left, and she stepped a little closer.

Suddenly there came a hissing growl from within the junk, and Dean grunted, thrown into the corner behind her. "Dean!" Deja shouted, but she didn't dare tear her eyes from the junk heaps, weaving her way faster between the aisles as she looked for the Rawhead. She heard it growl again, but closer to where the stairs were now. She emerged from the pile just in time to see Dean raise his taser and aimed it at the Rawhead.

"Dean, don't!" she shouted, moving out of the water she stood in to a dry spot of concrete and raising her taser.

He fired anyway.

"Dean!" Deja cried out, unable to move from her dry spot as the electricity from the taser moved through the Rawhead, into the water, and ripped right through Dean, electrocuting him as well. Dean seized, arching upward as the electricity coursed through his body and grunting in agony before he suddenly slumped against the wall, utterly still.

Deja didn't give a damn about the Rawhead—she knew it was dead. Instead, she went right to Dean's side as soon as the electricity was no longer coursing through the water, grabbing his jacket and lying him flat on the ground.

"Dean!" she called, hoping to rouse him, but he didn't move, mouth slightly agape, completely limp…

Deja immediately put her fingers against his jugular, feeling her panic mount when she didn't find a pulse. "No, no, no, no, no, don't do this, Dean…" Deja muttered desperately as footsteps thundered down the stairs.

She turned back when Sam's flashlight fell on her and Dean, and she saw raw panic flash across his face. "Dean!" he shouted, rushing towards them.

"Sam, call 911, he's going to need a hospital," Deja said shakily, her hand now resting over Dean's heart. "I'm going to do CPR and you're going to have to take over if my arms get tired, okay?"

Sam swallowed the worst of his panic, pulling out his phone and moving to find a strong enough signal to call for help. Deja turned her full attention to Dean.

"Don't you die on us, Dean, don't you dare!" Deja ordered him before she started on the CPR, wishing that his heart was the one pounding instead of hers. "Dammit, Dean, don't die," she growled, voice strangled with emotion.

 _Don't die._

* * *

Sam and Deja were in the waiting room at the ER, Sam standing at the information desk talking paperwork, insurance, and the other important things. In a corner of the waiting room, Deja sat in a chair with her elbows propped up on her knees, hands folded in prayer and pressed against her forehead. Since the ambulance had arrived to take Dean, Deja had been constantly praying to heaven, its angels, and God that Dean would pull through this, that he would be okay. Right now she was praying to God that if there was anything she could do to help Dean she'd know, and if she fell short that God would send someone who could help him.

Yes, she was still religious. So what? Sometimes a bottle of liquid amnesia wasn't enough to help her—sometimes she needed something else to help her.

Like right now.

"Deja."

Deja looked up at the sound of Sam's voice, seeing him standing in the middle of the hall with worry rampant in his eyes. The doctor that had taken Dean was coming up behind him, which meant they were finally going to get some news. Deja rose to her feet, deceptively calm as she approached Sam's side about the same time the doctor did.

"Hey, Doc, is he—"

The doctor cut Sam off, holding his hands up in a _patience_ gesture. "He's resting."

"And?" Sam asked, staring intently at the doctor.

"The electrocution triggered a heart attack; pretty massive, I'm afraid. His heart, it's…damaged."

Deja felt her stomach already starting to drop. If it was something that could be fixed, he wouldn't be beating around the bush, he wouldn't be so hesitant.

"How damaged?" Sam asked, going completely still. Deja already knew what was coming.

"We've done all we can," the doctor said, and Deja closed her eyes, interlocking her fingers and gently pressing them against her lips as she tried to retain her composure. "We can, uh, try and keep him comfortable at this point, but I'd give him a couple of weeks at most…maybe a month."

Sam immediately went into denial. "No, no, there's…got to be something you can do, some kind of _treatment_."

"We can't work miracles. I really am sorry."

Deja opened her eyes at the silence that grew between the group, looking at Sam to see him just…standing there, staring intently at the doctor as if he could will the man to magically heal Dean. It didn't work, however, and eventually Sam got himself to move, giving the doctor a brief nod before brushing past him towards Dean's room. It took Deja a few moments to get her own legs to move, but once she had she followed after Sam, slipping into Dean's room behind him.

The only sound in the room was the steady beeping of the monitors Dean was attached to and the soft noise of the TV, which kept changing channels. When Deja got a look at the rooms occupant, however, her heart dropped, and her throat closed tight.

Dean was slumped in the bed, skin an unhealthy, waxen color and dark circles under his eyes. When he spoke, it only served as further proof of how unhealthy he was, his voice gravely, hoarse, and strained.

"Have you ever actually watched daytime TV? It's terrible," Dean said as they walked in, eyes fixated on the small screen nearby instead of on them.

Sam looked down, heaving a world-weary sigh. "I talked to your doctor…"

"That fabric softener teddy bear, oo, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down…" Dean said when Sam trailed off, still staring at the television.

"Dean," Sam said seriously, and Dean finally looked at them, shutting off the TV.

"Yeah…" Dean sighed, tossing the remote away and looking at the pair with such…resigned eyes. "All right, well…looks like you're gonna leave town without me."

"What are you talking about, I'm not going to leave you here," Sam said incredulously. Dean simply continued.

"Hey, you better take care of that car; I swear I'll haunt your ass," he said, a weak smirk curling just one corner or his mouth slightly upwards.

"I don't think that's funny," Sam said flatly.

"Aw, come on, it's a little funny," Dean prodded, a slightly stronger smile appearing for the briefest flicker. It coaxed a faint smile from Deja as well, though they quickly disappeared by the already high, growing emotions in the room, Sam having to look out the window to try and get some control. Deja stared at the ground, at a loss for words. What was there to say? What was she supposed to say? All she could think was _Dean's dying_ and _Sam's about to lose an older brother like I did_.

Dean was the one to break the silence. "Look, Sammy, what can I say, man? It's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story."

"Don't talk like that, all right? We still have options," Sam replied with a desperate strain to his voice while Deja felt her throat close with emotion.

"What options? Yeah, burial or cremation," Dean said, tone bitter and a little sharp. Deja visibly flinched at the proclamation, and Sam looked at Dean in disbelief, a mixture of disturbed and horrified gracing his features at his brother's blunt and resigned words. Dean let that sink in for both of them before he continued. "Yeah, I know it's not easy, but…I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it."

A heavy silence fell in the room before Sam spoke again. "Watch me," he said, eyes glinting with determination before he turned and left the room, obviously angry, though Deja didn't think he knew what he was angry at. Deja kept her gaze on the ground below her feet, not sure if she had anything to say but also feeling…like she needed to, with so many different _negative_ things building inside of her.

"You've been unusually quiet," Dean eventually commented, raspy voice drawing her attention to his sickly form on the bed.

"I don't know what _to_ say," Deja murmured. "I mean…I can make sense of some of what I _feel_ , but actually _saying_ it…that's another matter."

"Well, at least say something, cause all this silence from you is maddening," Dean sighed. Deja closed her eyes, shaking her head. She didn't do opening up, not with the serious personal matters, especially when opening up about one thing was liable to bring out others. "I mean, you do only have so long to say it now—"

"Please, _please_ just stop…" Deja leaned forward, running both hands down her face before she looked back up at him. "Stop doing that. I know you're trying to…but it's not going to help, it's not going to fix…Damn it," she sighed, bringing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

"Shit…I didn't know you cared so much," Dean said softly from the bed, and Deja looked back up to fix him with a glare that would look angrier or more exasperated if she wasn't so distraught.

"Dean, you and your brother are the only people I'm more than a passing acquaintance with," she told him passionately, gesturing between Dean and the door Sam had just walked out of. "I'm _not_ okay with this! Especially since it's my fault!"

"Your fault?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Yes, my fault! I was the one who was supposed to be watching your back down there, Dean!" Deja said in exasperation, running her fingers through her hair.

"Now hold up," Dean sighed, trying to sit up in bed as he managed to catch her gaze. "None of this is _your fault_. Has Sam blamed you? No, and I'm not blaming you. It just _happened_. And since we're sure as Hell not blaming you, don't _you_ blame you. You're not at fault here."

"That doesn't make it better," Deja said, biting down on her tongue to hold back her raging emotions as she rose to her feet, taking the spot in front of his bed that Sam had just been standing in.

"Am I the only one who's going to be an adult about this?" Dean asked in annoyance. Deja was wounded by his words, fixing him with a disapproving stare.

"No, Dean, you're just the one who's not going to have to deal with the fallout if you do…" Deja shook her head, biting down on her lip. She couldn't say the word die, she couldn't. "And I'm not looking forward to seeing Sam lose his older brother," she forced out, voice cracking at the end. A glimmer of understanding flashed through Dean's eyes as he seemed to pick up on part of the reason this was so hard for her.

"Don't confuse me with your brother," he said quietly, and a cold and hollow part of Deja resurfaced at his words.

"No, you're sure as _Hell_ not my brother, Dean. Sam's your brother. And I'll be damned if he loses his older brother like I lost mine without at least feeling like he did everything he could to stop it," she said stiffly before she turned and walked out the door.

* * *

Three days later, Deja stared up at the ceiling of her motel room, laptop open on the nightstand, and two of her journals lying open on bed beside her. She didn't really _see_ the ceiling, didn't really see anything—the was just lying there, existing, and trying not to feel for a little while, long enough to recharge, at least.

Sam and she had been searching first for medicinal treatments that could help Dean, and once that had proved to be a bust they had moved on to the supernatural. Deja had stressed to Sam that they weren't going to get involved in anything remotely dark, and expressed a hesitance to even go down this route as there were always consequences. He was studying on his own in his motel room while Deja was in hers, but after a while Deja had to stop, feeling extremely discouraged and even hopeless after so long with _nothing_ that didn't involve some sort of dark magic, ritual, or deal with dark forces.

Dodging death, unfortunately, wasn't exactly something practiced within white magic and the forces of good, because the price was usually a steep one. They needed something more along the lines of divine intervention at this point, and Deja had been praying off and on ever since Dean had been injured. Sam had said something about finding a faith healer they could check out, but Deja was hesitant. Yes, she believed in her own way, but she was suspicious of anything that appeared to not require some sort of payment in return. She was a strong believer in balance as well, give and take. If you intervened with fate and saved someone by supernatural means, fate was going to make up for it and take something to compensate.

 _I need to get away from this for a while_ , she thought to herself. _Maybe hit the bar…hard…_

… _next time you want to hit the bottle, how about you tell me so I can be the drinking buddy that keeps you from ending up smashed like this the next morning…_

Deja sighed, covering her face at the memory and rubbing her palms against her eyes until the stinging stopped. No, she shouldn't go to the bar. She should go see Dean. He was probably going insane in that little hospital room, and the last thing she wanted right now was for them to be on bad terms. And she had definitely left that hospital room with both of them on bad terms.

That needed to be fixed, if only for her sanity or Dean's well-being.

Deja rolled to her feet, putting her journals away and grabbing her denim jacket off of the chair by the door and her keys off of the table, shooting Sam a quick text telling him where she was going before she left for the hospital. She stopped along the way to buy a slice of cherry pie, hoping that it was at least still warm as she walked towards the front desk. To her surprise, she saw a still obviously unwell Dean leaning against the counter, fully clothed with shoes on and ready to leave, signing what she was willing to bet were release forms.

"Dean, what are you doing?" she asked as she reached him, though the answer was pretty obvious.

"I'm signing myself out," Dean replied, smiling politely at the woman behind the counter as he handed her the forms before turning to face Deja. "You really think I want to spend my last month or so staring at the same four hospital walls? Hell no."

He was moving painstakingly slow, and Deja could tell that even though he was putting on quite the tough guy act, it was taking a lot out of him to simply walk around—he was still recovering from the initial injury. He might get stronger for a while, but he'd soon start to deteriorate again at some point. Shifting the Styrofoam box with his pie and the keys to her other hand, Deja took up a position beside him and wrapped her arm around his back, hand coming to rest on his elbow.

"Come on," she sighed. "I'm parked just outside."

Dean pretended like he didn't really need the support to walk, but she could feel him lean slightly against her for that support. For the sake of his stubborn pride, she didn't mention it.

"What are you even doing here? I thought you'd still be back at the motel with Sam," Dean asked as she helped him into her car, holding him steady until he was safely inside. Deja waited until she was in the driver's seat to answer him.

"I, ah…came to see how you were doing. I figured it must be pretty boring staring at the same four walls and thought I'd keep you company. Oh, and…this is for you," she added, handing him the Styrofoam box.

Dean opened the container curiously, brightening considerably when he saw the cherry pie and fork inside. "You got me pie…you came with a purpose, didn't you?" Dean asked with a weak smile.

Deja knew it was a rhetorical question, but she answered it anyway. "Actually…yes. I, ah…felt guilty about how I left—"

Dean cut her off with a wave of his hand. "No, no, forget it: no chick flick moments…especially when I'm in a car and can't escape without pitching myself from a moving vehicle."

Deja chuckled under her breath. "Sorry, but under all this tough badassery, I _am_ a _chick_ , Dean."

Dean squinted at her. "I don't see it."

Deja struggled to hide a smile, looking over at him. "Sickly or not, I _will_ slap you if you make a comment like that again."

Dean laughed, which got her to finally allow the smile. He gazed at her for a moment once he'd calmed down. "That's better…" he said, so quietly Deja almost didn't catch it. Though she heard it, she didn't say anything, feeling a sharp pang go through her heart.

 _God, don't take this man from this earth yet…_

Avril Lavigne was, once again, singing—quietly—from her stereo, though Dean didn't once complain and didn't even glance in the stereos direction, resting in the passenger's seat and working away at the cherry pie while he stared with glazed over eyes at the town passing by. She watched him out of the corner of her eyes for a few long minutes before she decided to speak up again, something she'd said earlier still bothering her.

"Dean?" she asked, quietly, catching his attention. When she saw he was looking her way, she continued. "The other day, when I said you weren't my older brother…"

"What did I say about chick flick moments?" Dean said warily, though she could see he was sitting extremely still.

Deja chuckled weakly and briefly. "It's not a chick flick moment—I'm just clarifying." She cleared her throat when he didn't protest further. "I realized that sounded like it was an insult, or demeaning in some way…it wasn't meant that way. In a way, it's actually a compliment. If you remember…my brother and I didn't part on the best of terms. He was quite the…well, he wasn't the person I prefer to remember."

Deja looked over at Dean, keeping some of her attention on the road for the sake of safety, but having the rest of her undivided attention on the elder Winchester. "You've been a much better older brother longer to Sam than Hayden was to me."

"Hayden—nice to have a name," Dean commented lightly, and Deja rolled her eyes.

"At least I know you were listening," she snickered under her breath, letting Dean's easy-going nature—or was it a façade, more accurately—drain the tension and pain away.

Dean finished the pie before they pulled into the motel parking lot, shoving the small Styrofoam box in the pocket of his jacket so it wouldn't get left in her car. Once she parked next to the Impala, Dean opened the door and got out of the car at a painstakingly slow rate. When he leaned heavily against the side of her car for support, Deja refused to simply sit by, sliding up beside him and wrapping her arm across his back, hand lying to rest on his left shoulder, coaxing him to lean against her.

"I won't baby you, but at least don't strain yourself too much," Deja murmured as Dean closed the car door.

"Just because I'm dying doesn't mean I'm helpless," Dean muttered. Deja winced.

"I never said you were helpless—that's far from what I think," Deja replied, helping him to the door. Dean looked at her, breath puffing lightly against her cheek and barely appearing in the cold night air.

"Nice to know someone thinks so."

Deja stopped them by the door, and she rapped gently on the door. "Sam," she called, waiting for the younger Winchester to answer. Dean shifted a little further away from her to stand on his own, though some of his weight remained on her.

When Sam appeared in the door, the first thing Deja noticed was that he seemed even more upset than when she'd left earlier for some solitary study and search for a cure. Either he was growing discouraged by a lack of finding anything, or something had happened while she was gone.

She didn't get long to debate the matter, since as soon as Sam saw Dean his expression changed to one of surprise, and then concern and maybe even a little frustration.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he said in exasperation.

Dean pulled away from Deja, giving his brother a sly smile as he slipped inside, leaning against the wall now for support. "I checked myself out."

Deja stepped inside, and Sam shut the door behind her. "Are you crazy?" he asked Dean, then turned to Deja. "Why did you let him leave?"

"Hey, he probably would have walked here if I hadn't gone to visit the same time he left," Deja said in defense. Sam rounded on Dean again, who gave him a _what are you gonna do_ look.

"I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot."

Sam stared at him for a good, long minute before he scoffed, his expression one of disbelief. "You know, this whole _I laugh in the face of death_ , thing…it's crap. I can see right through it."

"Yeah, whatever, dude." Dean turned away, eyeing the chair that sat across from Sam's bed. Deja and Sam both moved to help him to it—despite the trip from the car being short and one that Deja had helped him with, he was breathing heavily—but when Deja saw Sam move she relinquished the job to him, taking up a position on the edge of one of the two beds while Sam helped Dean sit. "Have you even slept? You look worse than me."

"I've—we've—been scouring the internet for the last three days…" Sam sat on the edge of his bed, facing Dean and rubbing his hands together with a slightly nervous air. "Calling every contact in Dad's journal—Deja called a few people in hers, too."

"For what?" Dean asked, eyes slightly narrowed.

"For a way to help you." Dean visibly scoffed, his certainty in his fate clear in his eyes as Sam gestured to the mess of pamphlets, articles, books, and every other resource under the sun strewn across his bed. "One of Dad's friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska…A specialist."

Deja's attention turned to Sam, her eyebrows raised. "The Nebraska guy…really?" she asked. That was the faith healer, the pastor, reverend, preacher, bishop, whatever was the right term, that last she knew had been the only guy that might actually be a lead, despite her reservations.

"Nebraska…what, _Children of the Corn_ getting to you again?" Dean teased with a weak laugh. Deja shot him a half-hearted dirty look.

"No, it doesn't have anything to do with _Children of the Corn_ , though thanks for that reminder." She looked back at Sam, letting him see her clear concern. "Are you sure?"

Sam shrugged, giving her a _do you have a better idea_ look. "It's the only thing we've got to go on right now. I think we should go, check it out. If it's a bust, then we'll just keep looking."

"You're not going to let me die in peace, are you?" Dean glanced between the pair, looking so worn and frail in that single moment Deja had to resist the urge to wrap him up in blankets, give him chicken noodle soup, and order him to rest. Sam smiled slightly.

"I'm not gonna let you die, period. We're going."

Dean sighed, shaking his head but offering no other resistance. He wasn't in any position to do so, really—It would only take one of them to overpower him if he tried to bolt or something stupid like that. Deja glanced between the two, noting that neither of them were going to break the awkward silence. So, she decided to do that for them.

"Well, that's something we can talk about in the morning after you two get some sleep. _Both_ of you," she said, wagging a finger at Sam like a scolding mother. "You both look like shit, honestly, and I don't want to be stuck behind an impaired driver on the way to Nebraska."

"Yes, _mother_ ," Dean scoffed, though he didn't offer any resistance when she helped him out of the chair and towards his bed.

"Hey, I got you pie," Deja warned. "You need to rest, seriously, or I'll beat your ass."

Dean gave a low whistle as she laid him down on the bed. "Kinky."

Deja smacked him lightly on the arm. "Keep dreaming. Especially in your state."

"What, no fulfilling a dying wish?"

"That's not funny," she said, backing away and wiggling a finger at him as he kicked his shoes off. "And you're going to get better."

She almost made it to the door when she paused, turning back to Sam. "Oh, and, uh, Sam—I'm having some Wi-Fi problems. You've always got yours running smoothly, so I was wondering if you could share some of that magic with my Wi-Fi connection. It's being a real pain in my ass today and I'm probably going to be on it for a while before I head to bed."

"Hypocrite," Dean accused from the bed while Sam laughed.

"Yeah, sure, I can take a look," Sam assured her, following her outside. Deja, however, stopped by her door, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"Now that I've got you alone…" she sighed, and Sam's eyebrows shot skyward.

"You're not about to jump me, are you?" he asked warily. Deja snorted.

"If that were so, I wouldn't give you time to suspect I might," she scoffed before softening her tone. "No, it's…I noticed you seemed upset—more than normal—earlier. Did something happen?"

"What? No, nothing happened." Sam scratched the back of his head, looking away for a moment before heaving a sigh. "All right, I…might have called Dad again."

Deja rocked gently onto her heels, nodding. "I'm guessing he didn't answer again."

"Nope."

Deja sighed, shaking her head. "Does he even care? I mean…he's called you before, surely he's getting your messages."

Sam shrugged, jaw tense from anger. "You know, sometimes…a lot of times…I don't think he does."

Deja looked down, not about to chide Sam on his anger—it was justifiable. John Winchester should have been there, or on his way, or at least called to acknowledge that his eldest son that had _stayed with him_ when Sam went to college was _dying_. It pissed her off—especially since, from what she was seeing, Dean was putting a hell of a lot more into the father and son relationship than John was.

"Well…" Deja eventually said, looking back up and gesturing to Sam and Dean's room. "Make sure he actually gets his rest. Don't want him straining himself too much."

"Oh, believe me, he'll get his rest if I have to knock him out," Sam said, a small smile on his face. Deja nodded.

"Yeah…and, ah, Sam?" Once she was sure she had his attention, she continued. "Dean doesn't want whatever time he's got left spent with everyone around him miserable. So please, for his sake…don't let it all be doom and gloom. Try to still laugh and smile and have fun with him…just in case."

Sam was quiet for a few moments, holding her gaze with his jaw flexing and a thousand emotions flashing in his eyes. "He's going to be okay," Sam said firmly, though it was clear to Deja he was clutching desperately to hope. She just wanted him braced for reality so there wouldn't be any regrets if worse came to worse.

"I have hope he will, Sam…don't doubt that. Dean's strong, he's a fighter…he has a chance," Deja said quietly, unlocking her door to go inside. She thought Sam was going to let her go in without anything else being said, but he stopped her, putting a hand on her arm.

"Hey…" he said, dropping his hand once she turned to face him again. "How come you don't believe in this healer in Nebraska? I've seen you praying off and on since Dean got hurt, I know you have faith."

Deja smiled sadly at Sam. "It's not a matter of whether or not I have faith, Sam. It's who I have faith in. I'm always leery of these sorts of things because there are so many fakes in the world." She shrugged. "I have faith in Dean, that he'll get better, but really…it's in God's hands. Though it was always my family's belief that God makes up the difference _after all we can do_. You're not going to get any results waiting around and expecting him to do all the work, we have to do our part, fight to the end. And sometimes all we need is us. Maybe that's why some prayers aren't answered—because he knows we can handle whatever it is on our own, he knows we can succeed without him, even if it's difficult."

Deja smiled at Sam's bemused look. "Didn't think I was that religious, did you?" she chuckled softly. "Good night, Sam. I'll see you and Dean in the morning."

With that, Deja went in her room and shut the door behind her, leaning against the door after she'd locked it.

She needed a stiff drink still. She'd just have to be careful not to get noticeably smashed to avoid Dean's attention in the morning.

* * *

Deja drove obnoxiously slow once they hit the backroads of Nebraska heading to see Sam's specialist, as it had been raining all day and the roads were ridiculously muddy. At least it had slowed to a drizzle—Deja loved the rain, but not when it was a torrential downpour and she had a white shirt on.

She should have checked the weather before she left the motel.

She parked Rosanne behind the Impala, shrugging on her black denim jacket before she stepped outside, watching Sam rush over to Dean—who was still sitting in the passenger's side, the door open—as she approached

"Hey, I've gottcha," Sam grunted, hefting Dean up from under the arms. Dean pushed him off, clearly annoyed.

"I've got it!" Dean looked over at the tent as Deja came to stand in front of Dean and Sam, looking an odd cross between upset and irritated. "Man, you're a lying bastard! I thought you said we were going to see a doctor?"

Sam moved to calm his brother down as Deja retreated to the back of the car and Dean slammed the passenger door shut behind him. "I believe I said a specialist. Look, Dean, this guy's supposed to be the real deal."

"I can't _believe_ you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a _tent_ ," Dean fumed, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as Deja took up position on Dean's other side.

"Reverend LeGrange is a great man!" a woman passing by who happened to hear commented.

"Yeah, that's nice," Dean all but growled, tone dripping with sarcasm. He turned to Deja. "Don't tell me you're all for this, too?"

Deja shrugged. "I've got my own…unique brand of faith, and I've always been extremely leery about these sorts of things, but Sam wants to try, and if it is the real deal…then you're healed," Deja said honestly.

"I have the right to protest! This man is a fraud, and he's milking all of these people out of their hard-earned money!" a man they passed was shouting at the sheriff, who apparently wasn't going to be listening to any of his opinions.

"Sir, this is a place of worship. Let's go, move it!" the sheriff growled, shoving the man forward with a rifle in his hands.

"I take it he's not part of the flock," Dean grumbled as they continued on.

"Well, when people see something they can't explain, there's controversy," Sam replied easily.

"Yeah, but come on, Sam, a _faith_ healer? You guys can't seriously believe this crap," Dean scowled.

"I already said I'm skeptical about this," Deja said quietly, though she was mostly ignored as Sam jumped to defend his reasons for dragging them to Nebraska's backwoods.

"Maybe it's time to have a little faith, Dean."

"Do you know what I've got faith in?" Dean asked, looking his brother dead in the eyes. "Reality. Knowing what's _really_ going on."

Deja inclined her head. She couldn't argue with that. She felt the same way—she always looked for the trick, gimmick, or price first with these things. She had yet to see something that was definite proof that there was a God and angels, but she still _believed_ there were. If there were demons, why not angels? If there were Norse and Celtic gods, why not _a_ God? And sometimes it brought her a little comfort to think that they were real and they did hear her.

"How can you be a skeptic, with the things we see every day?" Sam asked Dean incredulously.

"Exactly, we see them, we know they're real!" Dean said in frustration.

"But if you know evil's out there, how can you not believe good's out there, too?" Sam argued.

"Because I've seen what evil does to good people," Dean snapped back.

"Maybe God works in mysterious ways," a new voice chipped in, a blonde woman who'd been walking behind them coming to a stop in front of her.

Deja had several different spiels for that answer along the lines of _everyone has free will God won't interfere with including those who do evil because it would rob them of their free will_ , and _there can't be good without evil, natural balance in all things_ , but she kept those comments to herself, Sam, Dean, and Deja all appraising the girl that stood before them. Dean's entire mood suddenly did a 180 and he straightened, giving the girl a charming smile.

"Maybe he does."

Deja looked at him, noticing the flirt mode he sometimes got around her. "Oh, God…" she muttered with a dramatic roll of her eyes, catching Sam's eyes from behind Dean's back. Dean ignored them.

"I think you just turned me around on the subject," Dean added.

 _Wow_ , Deja mouthed, giving Dean a _really_ look that he either didn't see or chose to ignore. Sam had a similar reaction, scoffing under his breath and looking away. The woman laughed softly.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Dean stuck out his hand. "I'm Dean, this is Sam, and that's Deja."

Sam and Deja nodded in greeting as Dean introduced them, the woman shaking Dean's hand. "Layla. So, if you're not a believer, then why are you here?"

"Well, apparently, my brother here believes enough for the both of us. And Deja's…"

Deja smiled politely at Layla. "I'm somewhere in the middle."

"Right…" Dean said with a sigh, shaking his head. He wasn't really hiding the fact that all of this was a circus act to him.

Another woman came up behind Layla, grasping her arm gently and starting to lead her away. "Come on, Layla, it's about to start."

Layla smiled at them all one last time, giving them a small wave as her and the other woman went inside the large white tent. Dean immediately turned to Sam once she was inside.

"Well, I betcha she can work in some mysterious ways."

"Really, Dean?" Deja commented, eyebrows raised as she lightly thwacked his arm.

"What?" he asked, looking like he genuinely believed he was innocent.

He knew what. She wasn't fooled.

"Never mind, just get in there," she said with a roll of her eyes, putting a hand on his left shoulder blade and gently prodding him inside the tent. Dean glanced behind them as they entered, chuckling bitterly under his breath.

"Yeah, peace, love, and trust all over," he muttered, nodding to the corner of the tent behind them on the left. Sure enough, there was a security camera alive and rolling in the top corner. Sam simply shook it off, and they moved forward down the aisle before they blocked the entrance. Dean tried to sit down three rows from the entrance, but Sam stopped him.

"Come on," he said quietly, tugging Dean forward. Dean looked at him in confusion.

"What're you doin? We'll sit here." Sam shook his head, tugging at Dean again.

"We're sitting up front."

Dean immediately protested. "What? Why?"

"I always hated sitting up front in church," Deja muttered, though she didn't think they heard her over the noise. She really did—she felt like it put extra pressure on her to be a good little girl at the front, and sometimes when she'd had a particularly bad week, she felt like everyone could see she'd done something wrong, could see there was something wrong with her, that she was _unclean_.

Her dad and brother had always helped her overcome that. Helped her know she was loved and worth it, and convinced her that despite her unique circumstances, God probably loved her too and thought she was of worth, no matter what man said.

 _God loves everyone, sugar booger. Even the ones different from everyone else. You're still one of his creations, and human, even if you're different, and so long as you_ try _, you'll be okay._

"Come on," Sam huffed, now forcibly pulling Dean along and snapping Deja out of her brief trip down memory lane.

"Aw, come on, Sam!" Dean complained, scowling as his brother dragged him to the front, still holding tight to Dean like he was afraid Dean would collapse if he let go.

"You all right?" Sam asked as they neared the front.

"This is ridiculous. I'm good, dude, get off me," Dean hissed in agitation, pushing Sam's hand off his arm. Sam directed them to three seats just behind the front row where Layla was sitting, expression lighting up.

"Perfect," he said, gesturing for them to sit down.

"Yeah, _perfect_ ," Dean muttered. Sam scooted in first, and Dean tried to go in next, but Sam stopped him.

"You take the aisle."

Dean rolled his eyes, but let Deja go in next, and she carefully watched Dean sit down in the aisle chair.

"Got it?" Sam asked, reaching over to help again. Dean waved him off, still scowling but not saying anything this time as a white and grey haired man with sunglasses was led to the podium on the wooden stage by a wispy looking brunette woman. A hush immediately started to fall over the gathered crowd, which Deja figured meant the meeting was about to start.

"Each morning my wife Sue-Anne reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?" the man said with a faint smile. A resounding _no_ echoed around the room, and Deja glanced around, gaze flickering to Dean a few times. He still looked like he really didn't want to be here, uneasy even, and Deja had to admit she felt out of place and uneasy here.

But perhaps that was just the usual reasons, or because she was new here, not a member of the flock, per say. They were just here because this man _might_ be able to heal Dean.

"Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act, but I say to you, God is watching," the reverend continued, earning a unanimous _yes_ or _yes he is_ in some form or another around the room. "God rewards the good and _punishes_ the _corrupt_."

"Yes!" came the agreement, much louder this time. Deja's eyebrows raised slightly at the emphasis he'd put on that last line, shifting slightly in her seat before glancing at Dean again. He caught her looking at him and raised his eyebrows in a silent question, which caused her to blush and look away, back to the reverend. Dean did the same as the man continued to speak.

"It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts."

"Amen!" the congregation said in unison, though Dean leaned over towards Deja.

"Yeah, or into their wallets," he scoffed, a little too loudly for Deja's taste.

"Dean…" she hissed in a chiding tone, but to her surprise and immense embarrassment, the reverend focused on them instantly.

"You think so, young man?"

The tent fell silence, and Deja blushed, trying to avoid all of the attention that was suddenly focused on them. Dean's gaze flickered to all the people who were suddenly focused on them. "Sorry."

"No, no, don't be. Just watch what you say around a blind man, we've got real sharp ears." Several people laughed, and his comment even coaxed a smile out of the embarrassed Deja and chastised Dean. "What's your name, son?"

Deja looked up at the reverend in disbelief, then at Dean, who looked uneasy at the fact he was still in the spotlight. He cleared his throat. "Dean."

"Dean…" the reverent said slowly, as if trying out Dean's name as he slowly nodded. "I wan-I want you to come up here with me."

Deja was taken aback—she hadn't expected this. Dean's theory he was conning people out of their money was now out the window as they hadn't paid anything or been approached by anyone previously. Was this really happening?

As the congregation started to cheer, she looked over at Sam, who had hope swiftly rising in his expression along with excitement, and then at Dean, who just looked…even more uncomfortable.

Dean shook his head. "Nah, it's okay."

Panic flashed across Sam's face at the thought of missing this opportunity, and he leaned over Deja to hiss at his older brother. "What are you doing?"

"Y-y-you've come here to be healed, haven't ya?" the reverend asked, and Dean looked uncomfortably at Sam and Deja, looking like he was trapped someplace he really didn't want to be, liable to bolt, even.

"Well, yeah, but, uh—" The crowd grew to a roar, and Dean closed his eyes for a second to gather himself before he glanced around at the other sick people.

People with oxygen tanks, _carried_ by loved ones, wheelchairs, crutches, disfigurements, people they'd seen struggle to make it to the tent from the back of the parking lot in the mud. "Maybe you should just pick someone else."

 _Maybe someone else should be picked._

 _Deja, why'd you turn down saying prayers in class today?_

 _I…don't know._

She hadn't because she hadn't thought she was worthy enough, thought that she didn't deserve to say prayers because she was worth less than the other people in her class—they just didn't know it.

Deja's heart clenched, and she reached over and suddenly slipped her hand into Dean's, giving it a tight, reassuring squeeze she hoped gave him some form of comfort. He looked at her in surprise, especially when she didn't immediately let go, glancing down at their clasped hands before looking back up in her eyes. She could feel a slight sweat on his hands, showing he was also _nervous_. And when she looked in his eyes—damn, she'd never been close enough in a lit area to see how _green_ those eyes were—she saw some panic and shame, though he was doing a pretty damn good job at keeping those feelings out of his expression.

Dean looked back at the reverend when he spoke again. "Oh, no, I-I didn't, I didn't pick you, Dean, the Lord did."

Something akin to tired, world-weary disbelief flashed through his expression then, jaw clenching, and Dean started to pull his hand free of Deja's. She clung on, though, bringing his attention back to her as she gave his hand another squeeze. She didn't say anything, just looked at him, and hoped that he realized that she _knew_ that feeling he was probably feeling right now.

"Get up there!" Sam said eagerly behind Deja, interrupting their strange, solemn moment. Looking for all the world like he was having teeth pulled out with plyers, Dean let go of Deja's hand and started to stand, steadying himself for the briefest moment with her shoulder before he made his painstaking way to the stage amidst the cheers from the congregation.

Dean gave Deja and Sam a _why am I up here_ look once he'd come to a stop at the reverend's side, but Sam only shrugged, and Deja gave him what she hoped was a comforting smile.

"You ready?" the reverend asked. Dean eyed him for a moment.

"Yeah, look, no disrespect, but, ah…I'm not exactly a _believer_ ," Dean said quietly. The reverend just smiled.

"You will be, son. You will be." Dean stared at him, and the reverend clasped his hands together. "Pray with me, friends."

Deja sighed, folding her hands together in the same gesture of prayer she'd used in the hospital, but she didn't close her eyes or speak, only stared intently up at Dean on the stage with furrowed brows, lips pressed against her clasped fingers.

The reverend slowly raised his hands in the air, Dean still eyeing him warily as his hand came closer and closer. Eventually, the reverend placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, and something flickered across Dean's face as the reverend's fingers splayed and started to search upwards for his neck, then his cheek…his temple…

Goosebumps broke out along Deja's flesh and she shuddered, sitting up straight as all the heat she felt was suddenly sucked away.

"All right now…All right now," the reverend murmured, Dean's eyelids fluttering as if he was suddenly drugged. Deja felt a sharp tingling sensation go down her spine as Dean started to weave.

"Sam, something's not right here," she hissed softly, tense and on edge.

"What is it?" Sam asked quietly.

"I don't know," Deja hissed back, suddenly finding it hard to get air into her lungs. Up on the stage, Dean seemed to be feeling the same thing, slowly sinking to his knees before the reverend, looking like he wasn't entirely _there_. Icy fear suddenly flooded her gut for unknown reasons and started to rapidly spread, and she looked around the room, trying to find its cause but seeing nothing. It didn't help her gaze kept going back to Dean, wondering if he was okay, if the thing that was wrong had to do with him.

Of course it did, the reverend starts to _heal_ him and Deja's Spidey-senses start tingling? Not a coincidence.

"All right now…" the reverend said again, and suddenly Dean completely collapsed, falling back against the stage completely unmoving.

Deja was already up and rushing the stage, Sam right behind her to get to Dean's side. "Dean!" they both cried out, Sam kneeling before the edge of the stage where Dean had fallen while Deja hopped onto the stage and cupped a hand to his cheek.

He was ice cold.

With enough abruptness Deja jumped, Dean gasped to life like he'd been underwater, Deja and Sam still crowded over him with concern written all over their faces. He looked completely bewildered, panicked even, eyes wide as he gazed around, still disoriented.

"Say something!" Sam ordered, hands clutching to Dean's jacket as he shook his older brother slightly. Deja's hand had dropped to Dean's shoulder, keeping him from rising too fast.

Dean's gaze suddenly focused on something just over the pastor's shoulder, eyes widening a little more despite the fact he hadn't said anything. He seemed too frozen by whatever he'd seen or was seeing to answer.

Amidst the roar of the crowd, Deja grabbed Sam's arm with her other hand to get his attention. "Sam, something's _wrong_."


	9. Chapter 8: Faith, Part 2

"So, you really feel okay?"

Sam, Dean, and Deja were all in the nearest hospital, waiting for the doctor to come back and either confirm or deny that Dean had been healed yesterday by the reverend. Dean had said, repeatedly, that he didn't feel like shit anymore, and he even _looked_ better, no more dark circles under his eyes or waxy complexion.

But he hadn't stopped frowning. Nor had Deja.

Even now, while Sam paced from excitement and nerves, Deja remained leaning against the wall by the window, chewing lightly at her nail and brows furrowed in deep thought. Dean sat a foot away from her on the examination table, unmoving as he stared at something only he could see.

"I feel fine, Sam," Dean responded in a mostly emotionless tone, just a hint of weariness showing through.

All three of them looked up when the doctor returned, flipping through a few pages she had on her clipboard. "Well, uh…according to all your tests, there's nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, ah…still, it's strange, it does happen."

Sam looked euphoric with relief, and Deja herself did feel joy bloom inside her that Dean was okay…

 _Dean was going to be okay._

But the feeling was quickly overshadowed by the concern she still felt over what exactly had happened at the reverend's tent.

Dean's gaze fixated on the woman before him, focusing intently on the last thing she'd said.

"What do you mean, strange?" he asked. The doctor sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Oh, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic…out of nowhere, heart attack."

Dean's eyes widened slightly at the news, but he cast his gaze down.

"Thanks, Doc," Dean said softly, jaw flexing as what must have been a thousand thoughts flashed through his mind.

"No problem."

Once the doctor was gone, Dean looked up at Sam, fixing him with an intense stare. "That's odd."

"Maybe it's a coincidence," Sam said defensively, and Deja gave him a _seriously_ look from where she was leaning against the wall. "People's hearts give out all the time, man."

"No, they don't," Dean said sternly.

"Look, Dean, do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life and move on?"

"Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why," Dean snapped, rising to his feet.

"What feeling?" Sam asked when Dean turned away to pull his coat on.

"When I was healed, I just-I felt _wrong_. I felt _cold_ , and for a second…I saw someone, this, uh…this old man, and I'm telling you, Sam, it was a spirit."

Deja nodded at his description, looking over at Sam. "I'm with Dean on this one, Sam. Something was definitely wrong there. I didn't see anything, but I sure as hell could feel it. There was some seriously dark magic going on there."

"How do you know it was magic, specifically?" Dean asked, turning to face her.

"Dark magic has a distinct feel, like a vengeful spirit has a different feel from a malicious spirit. Whatever's up there, I don't think it's God's work."

Sam looked exasperated. "You think it's a spirit, you think it's dark magic—maybe neither of you are willing to accept that something _good_ happened for once." Sam gestured towards Dean. "If there was something there, Dean, I think I would have seen it too. I mean, I've been seeing an awful lot of things lately."

"Well, excuse me, psychic wonder. But you're just going to need a little _faith_ on this one," Dean returned, a little bit of a bite to his words before he lowered his voice to a calmer level. "Sam, I've been hunting long enough to trust a feeling like this. And Deja's feelings have been pretty spot on since she tagged along as well."

Sam sighed, looking away from Dean's intense gaze. He was outnumbered in this case, and even if he was still insistent to believe nothing bad was going on, Dean and Deja would probably still investigate on their own. "Yeah, all right. So, what do you want to do?" Sam finally relented.

"Why don't you go check out the heart attack guy, I'm gonna visit the reverend," Dean said, already moving to the door.

"I can drive you to the reverend's—Sam can take the Impala so he doesn't have to walk, cause I'm not giving him the keys to my car. No one drives Rosanne but me," Deja stated, straightening from her spot against the wall.

"Yeah, whatever, Dean muttered, stepping out of the room. Deja shared a quick glance with Sam before following Dean outside, keeping her comments to herself since, at least to her, it was obvious this entire ordeal bothered Dean, maybe even had him a little rattled.

It bothered her, too.

* * *

While Dean went inside to speak with the reverend, Deja remained on the steps to the front door, leaning against the left side railing and staring out at the wide expanse of field and trees beyond the church tent. As much as she wanted to be inside with Dean for moral support, this part of their little trip was personal. Dean might have only said that this visit would be to question the reverend, but she was rather confident that the _why me_ inside him was probably begging to be asked. His tough guy persona most likely wouldn't allow him to ask that vulnerable question while she was there. So, she decided to remain outside, and let not only whether or not he asked the question but also the reverend's answer, remain a mystery to her.

Besides, she had her own reasons and beliefs for why he'd been picked. Maybe Layla had been onto something when she said God works in mysterious ways.

Maybe the answer to her prayers had been a little good among the bad. What were the chances that, when Dean had less than a month to live, they find this healer, and he picks the dying hunter that will probably only be at this one meeting, to heal? It wasn't a coincidence—there were no such things as coincidences, not in Deja's mind.

Perhaps…they'd been set on this path not only to stop someone who was possibly doing evil under God's name…but also to answer the prayers that begged for a way to heal Dean.

 _Tone it down, there, Deja. Don't bring too much religion into this_ , she told herself. Maybe it was the entire church atmosphere in this place, the faith-related resonance in this entire situation, that was bringing this side of her out more than normal. Usually it was a passive belief—she only turned to religion when things were extra difficult, because the rest of the time she got by with what she could do by herself.

Dean being put on death row…that had been an extreme circumstance she'd known was going to need some faith in more than just herself.

Still…she wasn't an extremist, or one of the deeply devout that brought religion into everything. She believed, in her own way, but she went to no church, she was no regular scripture reader or praying person, and it wasn't a normal conversation topic for her.

She believed, but she didn't really talk about it, and she didn't think about it much.

Deja looked over when she heard someone approaching, spotting Layla making her way to the house. The other woman reached the stairs about the same time that Dean left the house, a pensive expression gracing his features. Layla looked up in surprise to see him, and Deja took a few steps down the stairs so that Dean could stand even with the other blonde.

"Dean—hey," Layla said once Dean had turned to face her, Deja took up a spot at Dean's side once the two stopped moving, giving Layla a small smile in greeting.

"Hey," Dean responded, glancing between the two blondes.

"How are you feeling?" Layla asked him. Dean gestured to the house behind him.

"I feel good—cured, I guess. What are you doing here?"

"You know, my mom, she wanted to talk to the reverend," Layla said as her mother reached the stairs. The reverend's wife, Sue-Anne, appeared in the doorway, taking in the sight of the mini crowd that had gathered on her steps.

"Layla," Sue-Anne said with a patient sigh. Layla turned to face the reverend's wife, making her way up the steps with her mother close behind her, while Dean and Deja started to quietly take their leave.

"Yes, I'm here again," Layla stated, almost apologetically.

"Well, I'm sorry, but Roy's resting, he won't be seeing anyone else right now," Sue-Anne said politely. Dean and Deja stopped at the base of the stairs, Deja's eyebrows raising in surprise at the casual dismissal as she and Dean turned to look at the scene unraveling in front of them.

"Sue-Anne, please—this is our sixth time, he's _got_ to see us!" Layla's mother said desperately.

"Roy's well aware of Layla's situation, and he very much wants to help, just as soon as the Lord allows." The look that Dean gave the reverend's wife was so full of skepticism and judgement, Deja thought it was equal to Sue-Anne being thrown into court with him as the judge, jury, and jailor. Though she couldn't judge him much for it—she had a similar expression. Dean had _literally_ just seen the reverend—Sue-Anne seemed to be making up an excuse and hiding behind the Lord to avoid them. "Have faith, Ms. Rourke."

Apparently, that was their dismissal, and a rather demeaning one with the way Sue-Anne had spoken down to them in Deja's opinion, as Sue-Anne glided back into her home without another word, leaving Layla and her mother standing on the steps. Layla's mother turned, looking ready to storm off with fury in her gaze when her gaze landed on Dean, and suddenly that fury morphed to barely contained hate, and all of it was focused on Dean. Dean leaned back instinctively at the look he was pinned with, and Deja took an instinctive defensive step closer to her friend.

"Why are you still even here?" Layla's mother accused him, and Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, but she cut him off before any sound could make it past his lips. "You got what you wanted."

"Mom. Stop," Layla intervened, trying to spare Dean from her mother's outlash.

"No, Layla, this is too much! We've been to every single service. If Roy would stop choosing these _strangers_ over you! Strangers who don't even _believe_." Again, she pinned Dean with a contemptuous look. Dean shifted uncomfortably, and Deja's hand moved to rest on his arm, though whether it was from protectiveness or to act as some sort of comfort against the woman's scathing remarks, she wasn't quite sure. "I just can't pray any harder."

Dean eyed Layla's mother for a moment before turning his attention to the blonde woman. "Layla, what's wrong?"

Layla gave him an almost rehearsed smile, sighing. "I have this thing…"

"It's a brain tumor," Layla's mother said, turning away rather melodramatically as she spoke in a detached tone of voice. All eyes were suddenly fixated on her. "It's inoperable. In six months, the doctors say—"

"Mom…" Layla said softly, cutting her mother off and putting a hand on her shoulder in comfort. Deja and Dean both looked at Layla with expressions of sympathy and remorse.

"I'm sorry," Dean said quietly.

"It's okay," Layla told him graciously.

"No, it isn't," her mother stated flatly. She turned to fix Dean with that contemptuous look once more, though this time it made a little more sense—she was angry and frustrated that LeGrange wasn't healing her daughter, and as a result, she was turning that pent up fury into hatred towards the people he was healing, and right now Dean was the closest and most recent one. "Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?" she accused.

Out of Dean's line of vision, Deja flinched, thinking of how he'd tried to persuade the reverend in the tent to heal someone else because he hadn't thought he deserved to be healed, didn't think he was worth it. Having that directed towards him probably wasn't helping. As Layla and her mother walked away, Deja momentarily tightened her grip on Dean's arm, unintentionally drawing his attention. He took a breath to steady himself, jaw flexing before he slipped on a joking mask and tried to ignore the somber vibes in the air.

"You squeeze my arm any harder, it's going to fall off. What's with the death grip?"

"Hm?" Deja hummed distractedly, then realized how weird the contact was for the two of them—especially now that Layla and her mother had left—and let her hand drop away. "Oh, sorry."

Pulling her jacket closer to her as a cold breeze wafted by, Deja dodged the question, moving to business instead and starting their trek back to her car. "So, did you find out anything worth mentioning from the reverend? You were in there for a while."

Dean gave her a sidelong look that told her he knew she was dodging the question, but he let it slide. "He apparently had cancer, it was fatal, he went into a coma the doctors said he wouldn't wake up from, but he did with no trace of the cancer left in him, other than the blindness. He discovered he could heal people after that."

"That all worth mentioning?" Deja asked.

"Pretty much," Dean said with a shrug. Deja gave a slow nod, then casually through the question into the air between them, letting her curiosity get the best of her.

"Did you ask him why he picked you?"

Dean blinked, taken aback by the question, but still retaining his wits enough to try and be shifty about his answer. "Maybe…"

"Figured you would."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "Oh, you know me so well?" he asked skeptically as they reached her car.

"Well enough to suspect as much," Deja replied easily, opening the driver's door. "Now come on—let's go see what Sam found."

* * *

Dean was uncharacteristically quiet on the car ride back to the hotel, but considering the conversation they had just come back from with Layla and her mother, Deja was willing to let it slide and leave the topic alone. She did switch out her Avril Lavigne music for one of her classic rock cds, leaning towards his music preferences for his sake as a small gesture of comfort.

Dean wasn't exactly the person to talk about feelings, anyway—nor was she. But she could still make gestures to help him feel better, or at least let him know she was there as support.

When they entered the boys' hotel room, Dean was noticeably tired, though she liked to think that he was a little more energized than he would have been had he made the trip alone. Throwing his jacket on his bed, he and Deja made their way to where Sam sat at a small table in the room's kitchen area, a small stack of papers beside him and his laptop open in front of him.

"What did you find out?" Dean asked, coming to a stop by the table's other chair.

"I'm sorry…" Sam said quietly, not looking Dean or Deja in the eyes. Deja's stomach dropped. Whatever this was, wasn't going to help Dean's mood at all.

"Sorry about what?" Dean asked, eyeing his brother warily.

"Marshall Hall died at four seventeen," Sam replied, still not meeting their gaze. Dean stared his brother down.

"The exact time I was healed."

Sam finally looked up, meeting Dean's gaze as he picked up the small stack of papers next to him and handed them over to Dean. "Yeah. So, I put together a list. Everyone Roy's healed, six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits. Every time someone was healed, someone else died. I mean, each time the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange is healing at the time."

Dean took a seat while Deja took the spot he'd just been standing in, looking at the two Winchesters with a concerned frown on her face.

"So, someone's healed of cancer, someone else dies of cancer?" Dean clarified.

"Somehow. LeGrange…" Sam heaved a sigh. "…is trading a life for another."

"Wait, wait, wait, so…Marshall Hall _died_ to save me?" Dean asked, leaning back as anger started to rise in his expression.

"Dean…the guy probably woulda died anyway, and someone else would have been healed," Sam tried to amend, but Dean looked away, still upset.

 _That's not the point, Sam_ , Deja thought, though she kept the comment to herself. Dean rose from his seat, walking towards the beds.

"You never should have brought me here."

"Dean, I was just trying to save your life," Sam said quietly as Deja moved out of Dean's way.

"But Sam, some guy is _dead_ now, because of me!" Dean shouted.

"I didn't know…"

Dean relented at his younger brother's soft-spoken statement. Sam really hadn't—he'd thought the guy was legit. None of the blame should be put on his shoulders. After a moment of silence that gave Dean enough time to regain his composure, Sam spoke again. "The thing I don't understand, is how is Roy doing it? H-how is he trading a life for a life?"

"Oh, he's not doing it," Dean said cryptically, pacing back into the kitchen. "Something else is doing it for him."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, confused.

"The old man I saw on stage. I didn't wanna believe it, but deep down, I _knew_ it."

"You knew what? What are you talking about?"

Dean splayed his hands on top of the table's surface, leaning forward to emphasize his next to sentences to his brother. "There's only one thing that can give and take life like that. We're dealing with a reaper."

* * *

Dean, Deja, and Sam threw themselves into the lore almost immediately, even going a little further back to look at the other cases where LeGrange had healed anyone to see if there were any extra details that could help them in the past cases. There wasn't much luck on the past cases front, but they were gathering quite a bit of lore on reapers from all corners of the globe.

So far into the research, Dean had to take a break, disappearing outside with a beer in hand. Deja watched him go and let him be for a few minutes before she excused herself as well. Outside of the hotel room, Deja's appearance caught Dean's attention, though she didn't go right towards where he sat leaning against the front of the Impala. Instead she went back to her room before emerging with her tequila bottle and two glasses, only then approaching him.

"You look like you could use something stronger," Deja commented softly, offering him one of the glasses.

"That bad, hmm?" he asked, taking the offered glass and watching as she leaned against the car beside him.

"Well, you have had _quite_ the rough few days, with the whole…dying and everything…" she said with a weary sigh, pouring a decent amount of tequila into his glass.

"I wasn't going to bring it up."

Deja shrugged. "We don't have to go into specifics."

Dean took a sip of the tequila. "Well…there are specifics about something I would like," he admitted, looking over at her. "I've thought about it for a while now, and I'm still not entirely sure what it was…"

Deja's eyebrows rose, and she stared at him curiously. "Out with it, man, I'm listening."

Dean gave her his little half-smile before it faded into seriousness, and he fixed all of his attention on her. "When we were in Roy's tent, you were…off, real tense. Your hand was sweaty, too. And that...move, itself was…unexpected, to say the least. What was going on with you?"

"Ah…so we are going to talk about it," Deja said quietly, looking down at her own glass. "I was beginning to think neither of us were going to bring it up."

She wasn't going to answer him, at first, but when she finally looked up at him again he was still watching her expectantly. Sighing, she decided to relent…but only a little. "I've…never really been one for churches. Sure, I believe in my own, strange little way, and my family went all the time…but I'm not really _comfortable_ in church settings. I always felt like…like I was naked under a microscope. That would be a good way of describing it."

"And the…other thing?" Dean prompted when she didn't continue. Deja sighed.

"Right…that. I wasn't trying to get you to go on stage, or about to profess my undying love, or anything like that, if that's what you thought it was. I was just…I don't know. I kind of did it without thinking. When I looked at you, you had this _look_ in your eyes, and it…reminded me of something I've felt on multiple occasions. I guess I reacted instinctively on the off chance that it _was_ the same look I've had before."

"What did you think you saw?"

Deja gave a short laugh. "That is a can of worms I am not ready to try opening yet, Dean…sorry."

"Okay then…so it was a comfort thing?" Dean asked after a moment of silence. Deja inclined her head in his direction.

"Yeah, I guess it was sort of a silent comfort and support thing."

Dean simply nodded—he didn't say anything, and Deja didn't push him too. It was already strange having a conversation with him that veered closer in the emotional direction of things, she wasn't about to ask him to make it even more personal.

The thank you had been in the moment he'd held her hand in return. She didn't need Dean to voice it, because he'd already shown it.

They stayed quiet after that, sipping on their respective glasses of tequila and looking up at the sky as mutual companions.

They'd return inside to Sam and the research when they were ready.

* * *

After so long searching the lore to figure out what was going on in LeGrange's church, Sam finally spoke up, tearing his gaze from his laptop's screen.

"You really think it's the grim reaper? Like, angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?" he asked Dean, who was buried in articles with their father's journal on his knee. Deja sat cross-legged on Dean's bed with her book of dark magic and her hunter's journal open on her lap, looking into her suspected magic angle while the boys were looking into reapers and feeding her any relevant information or important facts.

"No, no, no, not _the_ reaper, _a_ reaper," Dean corrected him. "There's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth. They go by a hundred different names—it's possible that there's more than one of them."

"But you said you saw a dude in a _suit_ ," Sam said skeptically.

"What, you think he should have been working the whole black robe thing?" When Sam only continued to look skeptical, Dean put down what was currently in his hands and turned all of his attention on his younger brother. "You said it yourself that the clock stopped, right?"

Dean picked up one of the images they'd had printed out from one of the articles they'd found on reapers. "Reapers stop time. And you can only see them when they're coming at you, which is why _I_ could see it and the two of you couldn't."

"Why am I being brought into this?" Deja muttered under her breath, hardly looking up from what she was doing.

"Maybe…" Sam murmured, looking back down at his laptop.

"There's nothing else it could be, Sam! The question is, how's Roy controlling the damn thing?"

"Magic, obviously," Deja piped up. The boys both looked up at her expectantly, now that she'd thrown her two cents into their debate, and she stood up from where she sat on the bed, bringing her own research collection with her, coming to stand by Dean. "I felt dark magic in that tent when you were healed, I've said that from the start. It's possible that LeGrange used some sort of binding spell on the reaper so it has to do his bidding. Unfortunately, I can't get much farther than that, because I have no idea where to start with what kind of binding spell he used—I just know it'd have to be something ancient and powerful to keep a reaper under his thumb, and I don't have anything like that regarding reapers in my nifty little record book, here," she huffed, waving the black magic book dismissively through the air before moving to set it on the kitchen counter.

"That cross…"

Deja and Dean both looked at Sam. "What?" Dean asked.

"There was this cross, I…I noticed it in the church tent, I knew I'd seen it before…" Sam reached into the pile of stuff he and his brother were encircled with, pulling out a deck of tarot cards and quickly shuffling through them before he pulled one out and handed it to Dean. "Here."

"A tarot?" Dean asked, looking at the adorned card in his hand that depicted a robed skeleton with a cross Deja guessed was what Sam was referencing. Deja gently pulled the card from Dean's hand, frowning.

"Shit…" she murmured.

"It makes sense—I mean, tarot dates back to the early Christian era, right, when some priests were still using magic, and a few of them veered into the dark stuff? Necromancy, and how to push death away, how to…cause it," Sam said with a frustrated sigh, sitting back in his chair.

"So, Roy's using black magic to bind the reaper?" Dean asked, clearly looking for someone to confirm it.

"If that's the case, we're dealing with some serious, risky, unstable shit, here. I only wish I'd seen the cross in the tent, I wasn't really paying attention to the décor…could have caught this sooner," Deja muttered.

"If he is, he's riding the whirlwind—it's like putting a dog leash on a great white," Sam added.

"Accurate depiction," Deja said, wagging a finger at the younger Winchester.

Dean slammed one of the articles he'd been holding back onto the table, grabbing his coffee cup and abruptly rising to his feet. Deja moved out of the way so her could reach the sink, standing a foot away from him as he turned to face the other two, leaning against the counter. "Okay, then we stop Roy."

"How?" Sam asked. Dean seemed to stare his little brother down.

"You know how," he said firmly.

"Wait, what the hell are you talking about, Dean? We can't _kill_ Roy," Sam stressed. Deja remained an awkward bystander, gaze sliding between the two Winchesters.

"Sam, the guy's playing God, he's deciding who lives and who dies, that's a monster in my book," Dean snapped.

"No, we're not going to _kill_ a human being, Dean! We do that, we're no better than he is," Sam replied firmly. To Deja's dismay, Dean turned to her for backup.

"Deja?" he asked, looking at her expectantly. Suddenly everyone's attention was on her, and she looked at both their expectant expressions before she replied carefully.

"I think we need to figure out what's going on, first. If I can get a look at what spell he's using to bind the reaper I might be able to find out how to break it _without_ killing anyone. And I'm willing to bet whatever the spell is, it's a complicated enough ritual he won't be able to replicate it without the instructions. This is serious stuff, he's gotta have a copy of it somewhere. Break the spell, no more playing God, and we don't have to kill anyone," she mediated, looking at each Winchester in turn. "My only issue is he's blind and can't read a written word that isn't brail by himself."

"Unless he does have the spell memorized and he read it before he went blind," Dean countered.

"Then how did he heal himself in a coma, Mouth?" she asked pointedly, eyebrows raised. Dean stared at her intently.

"You think Sue-Anne is involved, don't you?"

"Someone had to read the spell or at least carry it out. And LeGrange _is_ ground zero for all this healing business. Yes, I think Miss Holier-Than-Thou is involved."

"Holier than thou?" Sam echoed. Deja shrugged.

"She gives me that vibe—I've known a lot of them, they drive me crazy…Self-righteous pricks," she muttered.

"All right, back on point," Dean ordered, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "So, we've got to do something about this—someone needs to get a peek into that house."

"LeGrange has another service coming up—there won't be anyone inside, then," Deja suggested.

"She's right. But while one of us sneaks in, someone else should make sure LeGrange doesn't heal anyone else," Sam pointed out.

"I can stall LeGrange, Sam, you can be the one carrying out some B and E this time, Deja…" Dean said, trailing off when he came around to her.

"Either I can be a lookout for Sam or I can help you with the God Squad," she offered. Dean shook his head.

"Nah, go ahead and be Sam's lookout, I've got this."

Deja nodded. "Then I guess we have our game plan.

* * *

"Where there is a spell, there is a spell book. Keep your eyes peeled, Sam," Deja advised the younger Winchester as the three made their way through the mud towards LeGrange's tent and house.

"Hurry up, too, the service starts in fifteen minutes," Dean added, checking his watch. "I'll try to stall Roy."

The same man who had been protesting when they'd brought Dean to be healed suddenly stepped into their way, a stack of flyers in hand. "Roy LeGrange is a _fraud_ , he's no healer."

"Amen, brother," Dean replied before he slipped into the crowd pouring towards the tent. Sam actually took a flyer.

"You keep up the good work," Sam told him before making his way towards the house. Deja followed after him, quickly spotting the officers that were lingering around LeGrange's home, probably because LeGrange hadn't left the house yet. She sighed, tapping Sam's arm.

"I've got this, go ahead and go the other way," she assured him, giving her hair a fuller look and shifting her jeans to a lower position on her hips, shifting her shirt to tease a little skin. As she approached the officers, she gave them her best dazzling smile, hooking her thumbs into her belt loops.

 _Good looks can suck when the attention is unwanted, but it can definitely work to my advantage when I want it to._

"I saw you two over here and just wanted to come and say that the work you do protecting Reverend LeGrange is so appreciated. It helps all of us feel a little safer, knowing someone's protecting God's people…"

She started with the simple flirty motions, keeping her motions subtle but still enough to be distracting or attention grabbing. The conversation quickly drifted away from church like things once she'd broken the ice, and she kept the flirtations coming until she saw Sam crawl out the window of the house behind the two officers. At that point she smiled, then looked back towards the tent.

"I should probably go, or I'll miss the service—I'll see you two around," she stated, biting her lower lip before she turned and sauntered away. She waited until she was out of their sight to double back and make her way back towards Sam. She almost ran into him just outside the parking lot.

"Sam! Did you find anything?" she asked, not offering any resistance when he gently grabbed her arm and started directing her elsewhere.

"Yes, but we can talk about it later. That protester is next on the list, and we've got to find him."

As much as she wanted to ask what list and what else he'd found, Deja kept her questions to herself for the time being and followed him deeper into the parking lot, looking around and seeing no movement other than that caused by the slight breeze.

"Roy's really picking up the pace with his healing, isn't he? His _treatments_ aren't as spaced out anymore," Deja commented as they quickly weaved through the cars.

"Yeah, well, more healed people means more bodies," Sam muttered. They both froze in place when they heard someone other than them shout near the back of the parking lot.

"Help!"

"Come on," Sam exclaimed, taking off at a sprint with his accursed longer legs. Deja had to work to keep up with him, but managed to hold her own with distance covered, making it to their marked protester two or three seconds after Sam.

"Help! Help me, please!" the man begged.

"Where is it?" Sam asked, looking wildly around. Deja was already pulling on the man to get him moving.

"It's right there!" the man shrieked, pointing right in front of them. Deja pushed him back.

"Not that we can do much other than move, get going!" Deja ordered, grabbing Sam to pull him along as well. "What about Dean?"

"He said he'll keep Roy from healing anyone—we just need to avoid this reaper until he stops Roy," Sam replied as they weaved through the cars, going off of where the panicked man kept looking for where not to run to.

Suddenly, the man stopped looking about like a wild animal, slowing down and moving almost like he was in a trance. Before the two could ask what was wrong with the man, Sam's phone went off.

"Dean?" Deja asked. Sam only nodded as he accepted the call.

"David?" Sam asked after a few seconds. "I think it's okay."

"How did you know David was next?" Deja finally asked, feeling that was the more important question at the moment.

"Newspaper clippings of people he thinks is immoral stuffed in this little spell book," Sam said distractedly.

" _Newspaper clippings_?" Deja echoed, whipping around to face him entirely.

"Yeah, so?" Sam asked, confused by her reaction.

"No!" the protester, David, suddenly gasped, slowly sinking to his knees in front of them, eyes fixated on something only he could see.

"Sam, Roy's _blind_!" Deja reminded him in exasperation, yanking the phone from his grasp. "Sue-Anne!" she nearly shouted into the phone. All she got in response was the click of the call ending a few seconds later.

David continued to sink to the ground, face draining of color, and they were powerless to stop it because they had no idea where the reaper was and physically couldn't stop it. They had to wait for Dean, he was the one who could actually do something about this.

Finally, to their relief, David sucked in a huge breath, his color returning as he fell back against the mud. Deja quickly kneeled beside the man, helping him sit up. "Are you all right? Is it really gone this time?" David could only nod in reply, so Deja gave him a small smile, patting his arm in reassurance. "Take your time, you're going to be all right now."

She stood up, looking at Sam. "Think you can handle him? I wanna see if Dean's all right—I don't think Her Self-Righteousness will appreciate being stopped in her work."

"I've got him, I'll meet you two at the car," Sam said with a brisk nod, and Deja started weaving back through the cars towards where people seemed to be gathering outside of the tent. She came around the back instead of up the main pathway to avoid attention, finding herself behind Dean as he and Layla parted ways. As Layla walked away and Deja approached behind Dean, she heard what he probably thought no one else would hear.

"You deserve it a lot more than me…"

Deja's heart panged, but she dared not let Dean know she'd heard something she hadn't been meant to hear. Instead, she waited a few seconds before she walked to his side, gently touching his arm to get his attention.

"Hey—Sam's taking care of our almost victim. You okay?" she asked, falling into step beside him as he started walking in the direction the Impala was parked.

"Hm? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just took the classic _fire_ to get everyone out. Gave Sue-Anne a shock which much have broken her concentration."

"And thus stopped the reaper," Deja finished with a nod.

"Hey, how did you know to go for Sue-Anne?" Dean asked. Deja rolled her eyes.

"LeGrange is blind—and rather recently, too. No way he's reading newspapers and cutting out articles he can't even see. So, if it's not the reverend, it must be the wife."

Dean huffed. "Well…you were right."

"Of course I was."

"Don't go getting all high and mighty on us."

"Not me, that's Sue-Anne's job," Deja muttered, dropping her voice a little lower as they passed the reverend, his wife, and Layla's mother talking in a small circle not far from Dean's Impala.

"Private session tonight, no interruptions. I give you my word, I'll heal your daughter," LeGrange was telling Layla's mother.

"Thank you, reverend. God bless you," Layla's mother replied, and Deja noticed that Dean's eyes lingered on them for a few moments before he shook himself out of it and approached the car, where Sam was already waiting for them so they could leave.

* * *

"So, Roy really believes…"

Sam was sitting on his bed in the boys' hotel room, Dean pacing the room slowly and currently looking out the window, while Deja reclined on Dean's bed flipping through the spell book Sam had found, frequently glancing up to watch Dean pace. They were waiting until night fell to return to the reverend's house so that they could try and break the spell before anyone else got hurt, with Deja doing all the spell work research and getting ready to break it down into simpler terms for Sam and Dean.

Not that they were stupid, just so it would be quicker and easier to explain.

"I don't think he has any idea what his wife's doing," Dean told Sam, turning away from the window to continue his pacing.

 _And just think, you were the one who jumped right to_ let's kill him _for a solution_ , Deja couldn't help but think before she studiously threw the thought away. Dean had enough problems right now without her adding any more blame to weigh down on his shoulders. He did that to himself enough as it was.

"Have you found anything in that book yet?" Dean asked Deja, and she looked up from her spot in the little book.

"Well…it's really old, written by a priest that got a little drunk on the dark arts—and that's putting it mildly—and it has, surprise, surprise, a binding spell for trapping a reaper."

"The way you were talking, it must be a hell of a spell," Dean commented, sitting beside her on the bed so he could peer at the book over her shoulder.

"Yeah…it starts with building a black alter—the whole nine yards with the specific bones and human blood, uhg, I don't see how some witches can stand to dabble in this dark stuff, I couldn't imagine trying to get this stuff. Some of it you'd have to be…pretty messed up and ruthless."

"To cross a line like that…that preacher's wife…" Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Black magic, murder…evil."

Dean's gaze unfocused slightly on the little book in Deja's hands he was reading over her shoulder, before looking up at Sam. "Desperate. Her husband was dying, she would have done anything to save him. She was using the binding spell to keep the reaper away from Roy."

Deja had to bite her tongue at that and keep her expression carefully controlled as Dean looked back at the book she'd shifted so they could both see it better. When Dean put it that way…it almost made Sam look hypocritical. _Deja_ had been the one to draw the line that said nothing dark or demonic no matter how desperate they got.

"Cheating death…literally," Sam said with a soft laugh.

"Yeah, but Roy's alive, so why's she still using the spell?" Dean countered.

"Someone realized they had the power to choose who lives and dies and got a little drunk on that ability, in my opinion. It happens when you dabble with dark magic," Deja muttered, firmly clamping down on some dark memories that tried to rise at her statement.

She'd…seen some dark things in her lifetime. Things she couldn't forget, almost all of it involving dark magic.

"Right…to force the reaper to kill people she thinks are immoral," Sam agreed, shaking his head.

Dean heaved a sigh. "God save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work."

"Amen," Deja quipped.

"We've got to break that binding spell," Sam said with a shake of his head. Both boys turned to Deja, though Dean was looking at the book over her shoulder once more as she turned a page. He stopped her with a soft brush of his fingers against the back of her hand, then leaned over to point at the image on the new page.

"You know, Sue-Anne had a Coptic cross like this, and when she dropped it the reaper backed off," Dean commented.

"So, do we have to find the cross, or destroy the alter?" Sam asked before Deja could speak up.

"Both," she got out the same time Dean said it. They looked at her, and she rolled her eyes. "If you would listen to the person who specializes in this kind of thing, I could tell you."

"Well, by all means, professor," Dean retorted, gesturing for her to speak.

"The alter was definitely needed to summon the reaper, and was probably where the binding was carried out and the magic is wrought, and also probably where she sends the reaper after specific victims—you know, like a witch will have a picture or something of their victims when they're trying to hex them? This calls for the same sort of thing, so I would normally say that's what you should destroy. But she can't duck into wherever she has this alter every time LeGrange heals someone to command the reaper to carry out the give and take the exact same time LeGrange starts to heal—she needs something more portable, something she can pull out whenever she needs to, which is probably what the cross is. A portable control stick for the reaper, so she can summon and control it wherever, whenever. The alter is the setup, the cross the controller."

"You're basically saying destroy both, but with more words," Dean said flatly. Deja huffed.

"I was trying to explain it more."

"Just say, _both, because they're both important in the spell_ , and make everyone's lives easier."

"Sorry…I guess I got a little too into it. I like to study this stuff to come up with ways to counteract it, remember?"

"Right…well, whatever we do, we better do it soon," Dean sighed, rising to his feet.

Deja nodded. "LeGrange is healing Layla tonight," she said quietly, closing the little book in her hand. "We're on a time limit."

* * *

Just before it got dark, Dean, Sam, and Deja all headed back to the reverend's place in the Impala, parking not far from the tent after darkness had already fallen. Sam was the first to speak.

"That's Layla's car—she's already here," he commented, nodding over towards the usual parking lot.

"Yeah…" Dean said shortly, though both Deja and Sam caught onto the fact that there was more emotion—negative emotion—in that simple word than there should have been.

"Dean…" Sam said quietly, already knowing what was coming.

"You know, if Roy would have picked Layla instead of me, she'd be healed right now," Dean said stiffly, staring out the front window.

"Dean, don't," Sam tried again, but Dean kept going.

"And if she's not healed tonight…she's going to _die_ in a couple months."

Deja bowed her head in the back seat, resisting the urge to put a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. She was pretty sure that wasn't what he wanted right now. Instead, she remained quiet while Sam took up the job of knocking a little sense into his brother, or at least stopping him from beating himself up so much.

"What's happening to her is horrible, but what are you going to do? Let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself, Dean, you can't play God."

Dean was silent for a good few moments, and it got even harder for Deja to resist the instinct to try and comfort him. Luckily, before she could lose that battle, Dean got out of the car, which signaled the moment they all shoved the personal drama away for a little while and focused on their current job.

Quietly, the three made their way to the front of the tent, pulling back the flap just enough for them to peek inside. There was a small gathering of people, with Reverend LeGrange standing before them getting ready to start.

"Where's Sue-Anne?" Dean asked quietly as Layla made her way onto the stage inside the tent.

"House," Sam said definitely.

"Maybe…maybe somewhere else…we're going to have to look for her. We need to get that alter _and_ that cross destroyed, not just one," Deja muttered as they let the flap fall back.

"Right…" Dean muttered. "Sam can check the house…I'll keep the cops occupied, they're bound to be lurking somewhere around here."

"I'll stay by the tent in case Sue-Anne makes an appearance," Deja finished, giving Dean a small smile. He nodded, clapping her on the shoulder briefly as a parting before he and Sam made their way towards the house. Deja shifted closer to the shadows, trying to get into a position where she could see if Sue-Anne came from the house or if anyone tried to enter or leave the tent, but Deja wasn't as easy to spot. Once she found somewhere she was satisfied with, she settled down and simply waited and listened.

She saw Dean run off towards the parking lot with the two cops from earlier hot on his heels, but she didn't worry—he'd lose them easily.

After Dean went by it got quiet again, and Deja simply stood in the shadows, waiting for something to happen, halfway hoping nothing would, that Sam would be able to quickly destroy alter and cross and they'd be done.

Of course, things were never that easy with the Winchesters—she was quickly learning that.

After so long standing in the dark, Deja noticed out of the corner of her eyes a light go out in the parking lot.

And then another. And another…

One by one, the lights went dark, going in the direction she'd seen Dean run in. Deja felt her heart skip a beat, her stomach clench in concern.

Dean stopping Sue-Anne might have put him at the top of her hit list. What if, to save Layla…

Deja scanned the immediate area one last time, and when she still didn't see Sue-Anne, she bolted, leaving the tent behind in favor of the parking lot.

And the closer she got, the more her danger sense kicked into high gear, telling her something was _wrong_ , something _dark_ was going on here.

 _Dean_.

She had to weave around several cars, and at one point she even slid over a hood in her haste to find him as the entire parking lot went pitch black.

Finally, she rounded a corner, coming to a decently clear spot of the parking lot that was faintly lit by a fire crackling in a barrel—unattended, were these people trying to start a brush fire—and saw Dean, his back to her.

And slowly sinking to his knees in front of some invisible force, gasping for air between strangled grunts of pain.

" _Dean_!" Deja shouted, though of course he didn't react to her as she sprinted forward.

She couldn't see the reaper, she couldn't fight the reaper, but God damn it, she was going to _try_. She wasn't going to let it take Dean without a fight, not now.

When she reached him, he was almost as pale as he'd been in the hospital—she could even see it in the faint light of the fire—but she shoved that thought out of her mind as she grabbed onto the back of his jacket and pulled with all of her might, lugging him out of the reaper's grasp hopefully for a moment. He gasped and went lax for a second before stiffening in pain again, which caused her to tug again, yanking him back more.

"Damn it, Dean, we are _not_ losing you to this!" she snapped, tugging again to try and bring him to his feet and a little further away from the invisible reaper. His weight was too much, though, and she ended up tripping and sprawling on the ground, mud spattering everywhere.

That was the least of her worries.

Pushing herself up onto her knees and elbows, Deja looked over to see Dean stiff and choking in a desperate attempt to suck in air, the color fading from his skin as the life was literally sucked out of him. She crawled over to him, pulling him up and into her arms. In the midst of his death throes, he latched onto _her_ , onto _her_ arm, and she felt her eyes swiftly start to burn before she was crying, looking back in the direction of the house.

"Sam! Damn it! _Dean_!" she shouted, holding Dean closer and tightening her grip on him. "Come _on_ , Sam!"

She looked back down at Dean, gut clenching painfully and almost feeling physical pain of her own to seeing life rapidly leave him, hear him practically suffocating with throttled sounds of agony escaping when he managed to push air in or out of his lungs, a fearful look in the eyes that seemed to go white with fog. Her grip on him turned to a white knuckled grip, and she pulled him closer.

"Hang on, Dean, hold on, just a little longer," she murmured shakily. Suddenly, he gasped in air like a drowning man, his full weight falling on her arms as he went completely limp, but was still conscious. His color quickly returned, and Deja felt his grip on her change from desperate and—though he'd never admit it despite the fact she'd seen it in his foggy eyes—scared, to needing someone to support him while he steadied himself. " _Dean_? You okay?" she couldn't help but ask after his ragged and erratic breathing evened out a little more.

"I'm good…I'm good…" he groaned, and Deja gently lowered him to the ground, one hand resting on his chest.

"Take a minute, catch your breath," she told him, hands trembling slightly, eyes scanning him out of concern like he was going to drop dead at any moment.

Considering this was the third death scare she'd had regarding Dean in such a short space of time, she was justified that paranoia right now.

"All right…I'm good," Dean eventually stated in a steadier tone, starting to push himself up to his feet. Deja offered herself as a support, and Dean took her up on her wordless offer until halfway to the car, when he straightened and started to limp along on his own.

Not one word was said about what had just happened in the parking lot.

* * *

Sam briefed them on what had happened while they were in the parking lot. He'd found the alter in the basement and destroyed it, but Sue-Anne had locked him inside and hid by the tent to summon the reaper and send it after Dean. If Deja had remained by the tent instead of running after Dean, she might have been able to stop Sue-Anne before the reaper got as far as it did.

Yet, strangely enough, Deja still didn't regret her choice to chase after Dean when she realized the reaper was after him.

After Sam broke her cross, apparently the reaper had come after her and killed her in revenge. She didn't feel bad for Sue-Anne—dark magic always came back to bite the user in the ass in some form or another—but she did feel bad for Reverend LeGrange. Not only had the healing abilities he'd believed in stopped working when he tried to heal a girl he knew personally who'd been waiting for months, but on the same night his wife died of a stroke.

Now, the boys were packing to get ready to leave. Deja had already finished packing, and she'd been waiting for them when she got the call. After she'd hung up, Deja had stepped outside and seen Sam by the Impala, so she'd talked to him first and explained what was going on. She just needed to tell Dean once he was done talking to Layla, which Sam said might take a few minutes. She didn't mind, knowing it was probably a conversation Dean needed to have. So, she waited patiently in the hall, nodding to Layla as she left with a soft goodbye but still waiting a few more minutes before she walked up to the door and gently knocked.

Dean opened the door, only looking mildly surprised for a few seconds to see her on the other side. "I'm almost done packing, I swear, you won't have to wait on me much longer," he assured her, gesturing to his almost full duffel on the bed behind him. Deja laughed softly, stepping into the room when he moved aside to let her in.

"Actually, I'm not waiting on you two," she corrected him, though he snorted and rolled his eyes before she could explain further than that.

"Of course, you are—you're always packed before us, somehow."

Deja shook her head. "No, I meant…" Deja sighed, scratching at her ear absentmindedly. "You know, when I finish a case, I leave whoever I helped a number to call if they ever end up with supernatural things going on in their lives again."

Dean looked at her blankly for a moment. "And you're telling me this because…"

Deja gave him a slightly bitter smile. "Because I just got a call…and I've got to go."

"Well, we can go with you," Dean instantly countered, but Deja held up a hand to stop him.

"Not on this one, this one I've got to solo. It's a long story, but considering her current situation, she's going to be even less friendly to strangers than usual. I'm going to be the only one she trusts, so I've got to be the one to go. Just…you and your brother keep looking for your dad and picking up these odd cases, all right?"

"Are you planning on coming back?" Dean asked after a moment of consideration, coming to a stop right in front of her. Deja snorted.

"What kind of question is that? Of course I am—I rather enjoy this whole group hunting thing. It's just one solo job—I'll meet up with you two again once it's done."

Dean stared at her for a few moments, and Deja saw sadness flicker across his features, to her surprise. "Duty calls, I guess."

Deja smiled. "Aw, you're gonna miss me! I didn't know you liked having me around that much."

Dean's sly smile slipped across his face as he shrugged. "Eh…you're not the _worst_ company to have around."

Deja rolled her eyes. "That's gratitude for you."

Dean snickered, turning away and back towards his packing before he stopped, expression suddenly pensive. When he looked up, she was surprised to see a vulnerability in his eyes, though his expression was carefully controlled.

"Thank you," he said simply. Deja didn't have to ask what for. The image of Dean dying in her arms as he clutched to her for comfort was a vivid one, one she was sure wasn't going to leave her any time soon.

"You don't have to thank me. I'd do it again in a heartbeat," she told him quietly.

Dean nodded, looking down at the duffel bag in silence for several long minutes. When he still hadn't broken the silence or really moved, Deja decided to be the one who spoke up.

"Well…if that's all, I need to hit the road. She needs me there as soon as possible," Deja commented, backing away towards the door. Dean turned around to face her suddenly, stopping her in her tracks.

"Actually, yes, one more thing…" That sly smile returned, but there was an edge to it that told Deja that whatever he was about to say was still a serious question, despite how flippantly he might deliver it. "All that effort I've put in flirting…Would you have _at least_ kissed me before I died?"

Deja smiled at him, but didn't answer. Instead, she walked forward and wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug, nestling her face in the crook where his shoulder met his neck as one hand came to rest on the back of his neck and the other stopped in the middle of his back. It took him a moment to respond, but Dean _did_ hug her back, arms wrapping around her with his hands on her lower back and left shoulder blade.

She stayed silent for several long moments, simply letting the hug speak for itself before she decided to add a few words she felt needed to be said while she had the opportunity before she left. "I wish it would have been a different way…but I'm glad you're going to be okay, Dean…I really am." She hugged him a little tighter, feeling his arms constrict slightly around her as well in response to her words. She pulled her head back enough to rest her cheek against his, making it easier to whisper in his ear. "And despite what you may think, you _are_ worth saving. _I_ believe you are."

Carefully, Deja pulled away, putting a few steps between them. The look he gave her made her wonder if he'd realized she'd heard his comment to the air about Layla deserving to be healed more than him, or if he had realized she _had_ known what he was feeling in the tent, and had said she'd felt that way too.

She wasn't going to ask and ruin the moment.

"I'll see you soon, Dean. Try not to have too much fun without me," she said, flashing him one last warm smile before she left the room.


	10. Chapter 9: The Benders, Part 1

Deja made her way across the dark parking lot to the small bar that was just outside the town of Hibbing, Minnesota, running a hand through her hair as she stepped into the smoky and slightly packed room, looking around for one of the two people she'd come to meet.

And it had been far too long since she'd last seen them.

At first, she didn't see either of them, which confused and upset her for a few heartbeats considering she had just seen the empty Impala outside and knew that at least _one_ of them were here. Then, as she looked over by the pool tables, a familiar short brown haired young man walked out of the men's restroom and she smiled at the sight of him, making her way over to him as he came to a stop at a two-person table with a lone beer on its surface by the pool tables. She cleared her throat just before she reached him, taking the opportunity to catch him off guard since he hadn't seen her yet.

"Yeah, Justin Timberlake _totally_ sounds better than AC/DC," she said as if she was talking to someone else while she casually walked by him. Dean whipped around, immediately jumping to the defense of his precious music.

"That is a _sin_ —" he started to accuse, eyes going wide as Deja turned back around to face him with a rapidly growing grin, biting on her lower lip to try and stifle it. Dean's entire posture changed, and he gave her a warm smile, eyes lighting up. "Deja! You made it!"

Deja laughed as she was quickly pulled into a bear hug, returning it briefly before she pushed away. "All right, Dean, I'm happy to see you too, but I like breathing, you know," she laughed, and he held her at arm's length, warm hands placed just above her elbows.

"I didn't expect to see you here already," he commented.

"Well, you said you were headed to Hibbing, Minnesota, so here I am."

"Still, you've been gone…quite a while. It must have been one hell of a hunt—the last time we saw you it was still the middle of April." Dean released her from his grip, taking a seat at the table they were standing beside. Deja took the other seat.

"And now it's almost June, I know," she said with a sigh, waving her hand dismissively. "I said I'd get in touch again when I was done with the case—it just turned out to be a little more complicated than I originally anticipated."

Dean frowned. "You know, I told you if you needed help to call us."

"I know, I know. I didn't need help, it was just long-term…and busy," she said with a slight smile.

"What was the case? I remember you said someone you'd helped before was in trouble."

Deja nodded. "Yeah, vengeful witch coven found her again—at least what was left of the witch coven. Had to take her across several states to get her away from them and deal with them. It felt like a traveling war zone, honestly."

"Vengeful witch coven, flight across country, war zone vibes—now I want details. And I definitely wish you would have called us for help," Dean said with furrowed brows. Deja laughed.

"Sorry, but I'm keeping this story to myself. And don't worry, Dean, I handled it. I do have a life outside of you two Goonies, and I can take care of myself—I've been doing that since I was thirteen," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"Still, it gives me a little more peace of mind—hearing you had an entire vengeful coven after you while you were on your own is not something I want to hear when we didn't hear anything from you the entire time," Dean told her.

"Again, Dean, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You just haven't seen me in action—real, undaunted hunter mode—for a while. There were the ghosts in the asylum, which you and Sam pretty much handled on your own, I was just a little tag along, _Children of the Corn_ take two, and a reaper we couldn't fight. Put me in the arena with a tangible, physical monster, or a demon, or a witch, and you're playing my game," Deja said with a small smirk.

"Pfft, excuses," Dean scoffed teasingly, a slight smirk curling the corner of his lips upwards.

"I'll remember that the next time you need my help, Ken."

"I'm sure I'll be just fine, Barbie."

"Don't think that makes us a couple."

"Why not? I'm sure Sam thinks we bicker like one," Dean returned with a wink.

"I like to think of what we do as banter—trust me, my bickering sounds a lot different than this," Deja returned with yet another a roll of her eyes. "Speaking of Sam, is the youngest Winchester back at the motel you guys are staying at? I was hoping to see him, too."

Dean's smile faltered. "You didn't see him outside? He was ready to go and went to wait in the car until I was done in here…"

Deja frowned as well, her instincts gradually kicking in to tell her something was most likely wrong, especially since Sam and Dean were on a hunt right now. "No, he wasn't. From what I could see, he wasn't in the car, either."

Dean stood up sharply, moving back towards the door with Deja following close behind him. "You guys are on a hunt, right? What do you know already?" Deja asked seriously as Dean pushed his way outside, pace quick.

"People have been going missing here more than anywhere else in the state, the most recent guy was taken from a parking lot—Sam thinks it's a phantom attacker," Dean said stiffly, hurrying down the line of cars to the Impala. Deja hadn't been able to see it when she pulled into the parking lot, since she'd pulled in closer to the bar, but their father's journal was sitting on the back of the Impala, unattended. Deja looked around on the ground for signs of a struggle, but the parking lot was concrete and gravel, so there wouldn't be drag marks on the ground.

One of the rare times she _wanted_ a parking lot to be nothing more than an open muddy area.

While Deja checked the surrounding area, Dean looked inside the Impala on the off chance that Sam was just lying down in the back out of sight. Obviously, there was nothing, as he slammed the door quite forcefully, panic starting to fall across his face.

"Dean, breathe—let's start looking," Deja said seriously, glancing down the rest of the line of cars in the parking lot, which wasn't much. There weren't that many places he could have gone. There was the woods behind them, and the open road in front of them with another sparsely populated parking lot across from then.

Dean ran a hand down his face, making a visible effort to calm down and think first. "Right, he couldn't have gone far," Dean reasoned, getting in the Impala and pulling out two flashlights, one of which he handed to Deja. Together they searched both the parking lot they were in and the one across the street before they went into the woods, going deep enough the street lights behind them with still no sign of Sam before they returned to the parking lot. A group of bikers were leaving the bar, and Dean clicked off his flashlight, rushing over towards them as he pocketed the device.

"Hey, you guys been outside around here, in like the last hour or so?" he asked one of the couples in the group. The woman shook her head and muttered a simple _no_ before they continued readying their bikes to leave, and Dean looked at Deja with real panic and worry on his face now that they had come up empty handed. He turned away, back towards the parking lot they already knew was empty.

"Sam!" he shouted, whipping around towards the bar and the road. "Sammy!"

Deja looked up at the streetlights, hoping that maybe the local authorities had been worried enough to place some traffic cameras outside this particular bar.

They were in luck, but not much. There were two cameras, but neither of them were facing the direction of the Impala or the general area Sam must have been snatched.

"Dean," Deja stated, gesturing up at the cameras when he looked her way. He spared them a glance, giving her a distracted nod as he paced to where one camera was pointing while Deja paced to the other.

They wouldn't even be able to see the Impala in the cameras' peripherals.

"Sam?" she barely heard Dean say quietly, and her heart broke to see him looking so lost and panicked. She hurried over to him, and he met her at the edge of the parking lot.

"We can ask the local authorities to let us look at the camera feeds, but that will have to wait until morning. I'm sorry, Dean, I just…I don't know where else he could be," Deja told him, running a hand through her hair.

Dean growled low in his throat at the thought of having to wait until morning to continue looking for Sam, but they both knew that with that being their only lead, they didn't have much of a choice. "Damn it…Damn it," he said again, a little louder, one hand on his hip while the other pounded his thigh in frustration before he turned back to Deja. "Have you already booked a room somewhere?"

"No, I was waiting to see where you two were staying," Deja admitted. Dean nodded, heaving a sigh.

"We haven't picked somewhere to stay yet either."

"Then let's do that now, and once we're settled in we can look more into phantom attackers in case that's what's going on here. One step at a time, okay?"

Dean stared at the ground for a second, jaw flexing before this _wall_ seemed to go up and he gave another nod, a much stiffer one this time. "Right," he said curtly, walking away towards the bar. Deja turned to follow him. "Let me find a phonebook, and then I'll know where we're staying."

Deja's brows furrowed. "Why a phonebook?"

"Sam and I have this thing, if we get separated, go to the first motel in the phonebook, ask for a Jim Rockford."

"And you're the one signing in as Rockford so that if Sam shows up, he can find us…smart. Let's go, then."

* * *

After they'd gotten rooms in the motel Dean picked out, Deja went to his room with her stuff to set up their research shop for the night. They dug through the internet at the motel's little kitchen table, the silence between them deafening in Deja's opinion. Despite how uncomfortable she was with Dean's silence, she knew _why_ he was being quiet and didn't blame him for it, and as a result didn't complain about it or bring it up. She let the silence remain, filled only by the clock on the wall, the occasional click of laptop keys, and each other's breathing.

After several long hours at the laptop, Deja snuck a peak at Dean. His expression was stoic, fixated on the laptop in front of him, but there was a droop to his eyelids, and a slight glaze he kept blinking away. She watched him continue to struggle with staying awake a little longer out of the corner of her eyes before she refused to sit inactive anymore.

Sighing softly, Deja rose to her feet, shutting her laptop and placing a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's late, Dean. You should get some sleep."

Dean grunted, eyes still glued to the laptop. "I'm fine."

Deja' pursed her lips, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze. "No, you're forcing yourself to stay awake."

"I said I'm fine," Dean repeated, annoyance clear in his tone.

Deja took his gruffness in stride, closing her eyes and taking a small breath before comfortingly rubbing his shoulder just slightly. "You need your rest to look for Sam, Dean. You can't help him if you run yourself into the ground. Sleep—we'll go to the local authorities as soon as their office opens and we'll have a lead then, okay?"

Dean let out a slow sigh, remaining quiet for several long moments before he suddenly straightened and shut his laptop as well, and Deja dropped her hand from his shoulder. "All right, fine…I'll make an attempt. No promises though," Dean stated, rising from his seat and making their research mess semi-presentable.

"As long as you try," Deja said with a shrug, moving for the door. "I'll see you in the morning, Dean."

"Night," was his distracted reply, but she was willing to take it, slipping out the door and staying outside for a few moments, simply staring at his motel room and hoping that he really did try to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, after a quick stop for two cups of coffee, Dean and Deja went together in the Impala to the Sheriff's department. Dean _looked_ like he'd actually slept the night before, so Deja didn't push the subject, sipping on her coffee and finishing it not long after Dean entered the station. Dean was the one who went inside, since it was his brother that was missing, choosing the guise of Minnesota law enforcement working a missing person's case while Deja waited on a bench in the park across the street from the station. Since it was so early, there weren't that many people around, so the only thing to keep her occupied was the sound of birds and a few early morning joggers while she picked absentmindedly at her empty cup.

Finally, after what felt like hours sitting there, Dean appeared, clapping her on the shoulder before he sat down next to her on the bench. "The sheriff is looking at the traffic feeds now. She won't let me look at them with her, but she is going to show me what she's got if she finds anything."

"Is she at least going to let you help look for him?" Deja asked, turning slightly so she was facing him.

"I don't know…we'll see if we're going to have to strike out on our own on this one…" Dean murmured, leaning back in his seat on the bench. He was trying to look relaxed, but all of his body language screamed of tension. Deja placed a hand on his knee.

"Hey…wherever Sam is, he'll be all right till we find him. He's capable, you know that."

"He's my responsibility—he shouldn't have gone missing in the first place," Dean muttered, still tense.

"You can't control everything, Dean. Especially with this job. Things happen out of our control all the time. That doesn't mean we can't catch up and get control again, though. No one tracks faster than a hunter with the law at their disposal."

"Unless you're bogged down with paperwork," Dean replied under his breath.

"She had you file a missing persons report?"

"Yeah, she had me fill one out."

"Well…such is the price for easy access. It'll pay off," Deja said quietly, removing her hand from his knee. Dean glanced down at its sudden absence, but he didn't say anything about it, sighing and staring out across the mostly empty park.

It stayed quiet between them while they waited for the sheriff, Deja scooting closer to Dean at some point for warmth when the air got a little too nippy for her taste. It was while she was leaning against him, people watching with him despite the few occupants in the park so early in the morning, that the called out to Dean from behind them.

"Greg, I think we got something," the sheriff said, holding a few pictures up high as Dean and Deja both rose to their feet and turned to face the woman. Her footsteps stuttered slightly to see Deja, a small frown flickering across her face. "And who's this?"

"I'm Deja, Blake. Greg and Sam are friends of mine, I was with them last night when Sam went missing," Deja said before Dean could speak, holding a hand out for the sheriff to shake.

"Greg didn't mention there was another witness," the sheriff said suspiciously. Deja easily brushed it off.

"I saw no more than Greg did. I was paying while he was in the restroom, and Sam went outside to wait in the car. We looked for him together, didn't find anything." She shrugged. "Nothing new to add to Greg's story."

"Anyway, what did you find?" Dean asked, cutting into the conversation before any more questions could be asked and Deja had to keep track of more lies. The sheriff turned her attention to Dean once more, handing him the small stack of photos she had in her hand. Deja shifted so she could look at the photos as well while he flipped through them, still standing rather close to Dean for warmth.

Was it always this chilly in Minnesota?

"These traffic cams take an image every three seconds as part of the Amber Alert Program. These images were all taken around the time that your cousin Sam disappeared."

"This really isn't what I'm looking for," Dean stated after a few moments when all they saw was open road and passing cars, frown deep and the stress visibly rising with each passing second.

"Just wait, wait, next one," the sheriff assured him, gesturing for him to flip to the next page. He did, and the picture was of a rust bucket of a small camper pulling out of the bar's parking lot. "This one was taken right after Sam left the bar. Look at the back end of that thing."

Dean glanced at the sheriff before looking down at the picture again, and she continued talking. "Now look at the plates."

Both Dean and Deja leaned in, spotting the brand-new plates attached to the back of the falling-apart camper. "Those plates look new, it's probably stolen," Dean assessed, surprised.

"So, whoever's driving that rust bucket must be involved," the sheriff finished. Dean looked away as a van passed, it's engine's squeal grating on Deja's ears and making her wince.

"Hear that engine?" Dean asked, expression one of utmost attention. Deja looked at him in confusion, wondering what he was getting at.

"Yeah…" the sheriff replied slowly.

"Kind of a whining growl, isn't it?"

"Sure."

Dean watched the van go by a few seconds longer, shaking his head slightly. "I'll be damned…"

Deja felt like Dean had just had some sort of great revelation, and she wasn't privy to it because she was missing some vital piece of information. She couldn't very well ask what it was, though, with the sheriff standing right there, so she held her tongue and resolved to wait until they were alone to ask.

"So, we've got a lead," the sheriff said, snapping Deja's attention back to her. "We know what direction it's going, so we can check the other traffic cams along its route to see where it went. It will take a while, though, so we know where to check. We might be looking after night falls."

"I don't mind, so long as we find Sam," Dean told her, easily falling back into a business as usual attitude. The sheriff nodded.

"You don't mind waiting a little longer while I track its route, do you?" the sheriff asked.

"Not at all," Deja assured her, giving the woman a small smile as she took the papers back from Dean and headed back to the sheriff's department. Deja turned to Dean, expression serious. "All right, you had a revelation—what did I miss?"

"We talked to a kid who witnessed the last disappearance before Sam vanished, and the kid said that he heard a whining growl when Jenkins—the victim—was taken," Dean explained.

"So…not a phantom attacker, just some psychos kidnapping people?"

"Probably," Dean said with a sigh, looking away. Deja grimaced at her word choice, reminding herself Sam was probably with them.

"Well…that's good news, right? I feel like Sam has an even better chance against regular people than a phantom attacker," Deja said, trying to give him a little hope to hold onto.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean muttered, rubbing a hand over his chin. Deja let out a slow breath.

Patience. There was no way Dean was going to relax while Sam was gone—he was going to worry until his little brother was safely under his watch once more. "Come on…we've got some time to kill before she sees us again."

* * *

Later that night, after the sheriff had plotted out the course of their rust bucket suspect, Dean, Deja, and the sheriff all got in the sheriff's car and started driving the route, trying to find where the camper went since it was their only lead. The first full day since Sam had disappeared was quickly drawing to a close, and so far they had nothing more to go off of. It was dark out by now, so they could hardly see the woods around them, which caused Deja to think that perhaps they should be turning around soon.

They were almost at the end of the trail, though, so she wasn't going to speak up yet. Maybe if they didn't find anything obvious tonight she'd suggest they return tomorrow when it was easier to see their surroundings and spot anything unusual.

"Okay, the next traffic cam is fifty miles from here, and your pickup didn't pass that one, so…" the sheriff, who was of course driving, stated. Dean glanced at her from the passenger seat (Deja was the lucky one sitting in the back like a criminal).

"So, it must have pulled off somewhere. I don't see any other roads here," Dean murmured, looking out the dark window despite the fact he would have a hard time spotting any back roads.

"Well, a lot of these backwoods properties have their own private roads," the sheriff told him.

"Great…" Dean muttered. Deja leaned forward to speak through the divider that kept criminals in the back.

"Yeah, where my family and I lived, you had to really look to see the way to our house—the path was really hard to spot. Especially in the winter, fall, or at night. We lived in a two-story on the edge of town, in a clearing in the woods."

Nobody made a comment, a small silence filling the space in the car as the sheriff looked at something on her personal computer. Dean, however, turned to give her a curious look, and it seemed like he was about to ask something before the sheriff spoke up.

"So, Gregory?"

"Yeah?" Dean asked, turning back to her.

"I ran your badge number. It's routine when we're working a case with state police. For accounting purposes and what have you," she said casually, and in the back, Deja grimaced at her tone.

 _Shit, Dean, you're caught._

"Mhm…" Dean hummed, eyeing the sheriff warily.

"And, ah…they just got back to me." Deja sighed as the car started to pull off to the side of the road. They were in trouble, now. "Says here your badge was stolen. And there's a…picture of you."

The sheriff turned the computer around so Dean could see, and Deja shifted in the back to get a glimpse as well. On the screen was a man that was not only larger than Dean, but also African American.

Dean licked his lips and went into a half-hearted, soft-spoken excuse. "I lost some weight…and I have that Michael Jackson skin disease—"

"Really?" Deja stated, cutting him off before he made more of a fool of himself. The sheriff was already unbuckling, clearly upset.

"Okay…would you step out of the car?" she asked Dean tersely, hand on the door handle before Dean stopped her.

"Look, look, look…" Dean said quickly, and the sheriff turned her attention to him at his serious, slightly desperate tone. "If you want to arrest me, that's fine. I'll cooperate, I _swear_. But first, _please_ …let me find Sam."

"I don't even know who you are. Or if this Sam person is missing," the sheriff accused, and Deja had to speak up.

"He wasn't completely lying, if that's what you're wondering, and he's not a bad guy," she pitched in, leaning against the iron mesh separating her from the front. "He really is related to Sam, really does take care of him. He's just trying to find him before something bad happens. What's the average, seventy-two hours to find someone after they go missing, or something like that?" she said pointedly.

"Why would I listen to you? You could be lying too for all I know," the sheriff returned sharply. Dean commanded her attention again with one sentence spoke with deadly seriousness.

"Look into my eyes and tell me if I'm lying about this," he said quietly and evenly.

"Identity theft? You're impersonating an officer," the sheriff returned.

"Desperation," Deja countered. Dean cut her off once more.

"Here's the thing, w-wh-when we were young…I pretty much pulled him from a fire."

Deja leaned back in her seat, staring at Dean's silhouette in the darkness of the car. She hadn't known that fact…that the older Winchester had pulled the younger from a burning building. Had that also been the night their mother died? There was a slight shake in Dean's voice that told her it was possibly a traumatic memory he was referring to, one Dean kept buried and didn't talk about, like Deja kept her story buried and well-guarded.

But when she pictured it, she wasn't seeing a young Dean pulling a little Sam out of a burning building. She envisioned a little girl racing out the front door of a house that was ablaze far faster than it should have been, dragging a few bags with keys in hand as she jumped into her father's car and peeled away like hellhounds were on her tail. It was close enough to what had been emerging from the back of that rapidly burning house.

She was picturing what perhaps should have been. She shouldn't have been alone when she ran. There should have been someone there to pull _her_ out of the fire. She should have had an older brother watching out for her that night, like he had every other time things went wrong up until a few months before that nightmare.

Dean continued, and Deja heard him distantly, like she wasn't in the car but standing in the clearing watching the house burn down, a stark contrast of the heat of her burning life and the cold air clashing across her skin.

"And ever since then I've felt responsible for him. You know, like it's-it's my _job_ to keep him _safe_."

Deja heard every wobble in his voice, every tremble and raw vulnerability he let show in an effort to convince this officer to let him be an older brother, to protect his little sibling.

Like Hayden should have been there to protect her.

What she wouldn't give for her brother to have loved her as fiercely as Dean loved Sam. Perhaps he would have been there for her that night. Perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps she wouldn't have ended up so alone and broken and unloved, perhaps she would have felt more self-worth, perhaps she wouldn't have ended up as fucked up inside as she _really_ was and didn't let the Winchesters see because she didn't know how they'd react to that darkness inside her…perhaps everything would have changed for the better.

"I'm just afraid if we don't find him fast…" Dean continued, and Deja looked up as his voice trailed off, struggling to keep her own emotions at bay just a little longer. His voice was hoarse as he spoke again, and it seemed he was trying to hold back some emotions of his own. " _Please_. He's my family."

The sheriff shook her head, staring out the window in front of her. "I'm _sorry_. You've given me no choice." Dean's expression seemed to shatter, like he was watching his world slip through his fingers like smoke, and Deja's throat closed. "I have to take you in."

Deja couldn't bear the look on Dean's face, so she turned to face the sheriff, her tone pleading and desperate, warped by the emotions she was trying to hold at bay so she could retain her composure. "Then at least let _me_ keep looking for Sam, please—I really am a friend, I haven't impersonated anyone, and he _has_ gone missing. We have to find him!"

"You're not off the hook either, you've got aiding and abetting hanging over you. I'm taking you both in…" Deja leaned her head against the iron mesh in front of her, heart pounding. So close, and Sam was going to slip right out of their reach. It would probably be too late to reach Sam by the time they managed to get out of jail.

Up front, the sheriff sighed, shaking her head as she started to put her seatbelt back on. "After we find Sam Winchester."

Deja's head snapped up. Dean's relief was palpable, as he seemed to almost melt into the passenger's seat, and Deja collapsed against the back seat with a relieved sigh of her own.

The car settled into an awkward silence as the sheriff pulled back onto the road, but Deja didn't pay the car's other two occupants much mind, staring out the window on her right and watching the rain from the storm outside beat against the glass surface shimmering with water. The silence meant she had nothing to distract her, and with nothing to distract her, she quickly started to sink into her thoughts.

A dangerous thing, and never something she wanted to do when there were others close by. But the emotions and memories stirred up by Dean's pleading for the sheriff to let him find Sam were too much at once for her to hold at bay for long.

Maybe there was a time when Hayden had cared for her as passionately, before everything had gone to shit and her entire life had gone up in literal flames with magic and screams. She wanted to believe there was, wanted to cling to the memories of her older brother being her protector and comforter when their father wasn't home, wanted to cling to the memories of Hayden tucking her in at night and rescuing her from the people who picked on her at school no matter where her family lived. It had been hard enough always being the new kid with how much their family had moved around, but no matter where they went she had never fit in. Hayden and her father had been her constant…until Hayden grew distant, until Hayden moved out, until Hayden seemed to fade away…

Until he stopped being her older brother one day.

Deja bit her knuckles to use the pain to distract herself before her mind could go there, realizing as she was pulled from her thoughts that she had hot tears slipping quietly down her face. She didn't move to wipe them away, just focused on the pain and on not making any noise as she silently prayed that the two people in the front seat didn't catch her drowning in old wounds.

* * *

Deja had been quiet ever since the sheriff had found out Dean wasn't with the state police, and he was rather sure it had nothing to do with them being caught. She hadn't so much as shared an opinion or even spare the conversation a short comment or quip.

He had, however, caught sight of her crying silently in the back seat, biting her knuckles to stifle any noise, when he looked in the rearview mirror.

He hadn't dared draw attention to it in the car, unable to help but think of how the only times he'd seen her cry was when he was dying.

So what had triggered those tears?

He didn't bring up the topic even when they were alone in the Impala headed back to the motel after what felt like a long night of finding nothing. However, when he parked the car and they both got out with Deja silently making a beeline for her room, all he could see was the opportunity slipping away, and he reached out and grabbed it before it disappeared entirely.

"Do you want to have a couple of beers before you turn in for the night?" Dean asked, simply trying to get her to pause long enough for him to convince her not to retreat into her room yet.

Deja turned around, rubbing her arm and not quite meeting his gaze. "I'm not feeling up to it tonight, Dean. I think I'm just going to turn in for the night," she said quietly.

"I, uh…" Dean said as she started to turn away, his hesitation catching her attention again. _Swallow your pride for five seconds, Winchester, don't let her walk into that room without talking._ "I could use the company, tonight."

Deja looked back at him with what was probably supposed to be her usual teasing smile, but it was far too broken, not even a spark of her real smile reaching her eyes. "Dean, I've already told you you're not going to get me into bed that easily."

Dean smiled faintly. He appreciated that she was trying to be cheerful, if only for a moment, to lift his own spirits, but the attempt was depressing when it was clear to him her heart wasn't all the way in it. It didn't have the light-hearted banter and care in it that it usually had. It was just a ruse she put out trying to convince him that she was fine.

"That's not what I meant," Dean said gently, only further saddened by the fact she still wasn't meeting his gaze, like she was going to erupt into tears again if she did. What had happened? What had he missed? "I just want to share a few beers with someone, I'm not asking for anything more."

Deja looked away, back towards her room, and as Dean stared at her back his heart sank at the thought that she probably wasn't going to come no matter what he said, and she was going to retreat for the night just to pretend it hadn't ever happened in the morning, and another opportunity to figure out the puzzle that was Deja Floy would pass him by. As would a chance for _him_ to ease _her_ burden for once.

Deja turned back to him, giving him a slight nod. "All right…but only for a little while."

"That's all I ask," Dean said, giving her a genuine but still small smile, holding the door open for her as they walked into his room.

Dean grabbed two beers out of the mini fridge in the room, opening both and placing one in front of Deja where she sat on his bed. She had a knack for always sitting on his bed, never Sam's, even though it was clear this time whose bed was whose since Dean's was the one that was actually slept in. Dean himself pulled out the chair at the kitchen table, angling it so that he could face Deja before he sat down and took a slow drink from his beer. Deja sipped quietly on her beer, eyes distant as she still looked somewhere other than at him.

After a few moments of silence where Deja didn't speak and Dean let her believe he was simply enjoying the company, he decided to break the ice, starting small instead of attacking her with the question of why she was crying right out of the gates. He wasn't even sure he should ask since she'd tried so hard not to make a sound.

She was trying to hide it with how she folded her hands, but her teeth had drawn blood from her knuckles. He'd glimpsed the markings.

"You know, I, ah…I've never heard you talk about where you grew up before. Two-story house in the woods on the edge of town, huh? Sounds nice," Dean said carefully, watching her closely to make sure he didn't cross some line he didn't know about.

It was times like these he was reminded how little he really knew about her.

Deja cleared her throat, nodding as she twirled the bottle lightly in her hands. "It, ah…wasn't where I grew up, per say. Just the last house we lived in. We moved around a lot."

Dean nodded. "Military family, I remember. Active service, then?"

"Yeah, he was active at the time. We had to move around a lot," Deja murmured.

"Good memories?" he asked.

Deja flinched, and Dean cursed inwardly, even though he had no idea what line he'd crossed until she managed to speak. "Not enough," she said hoarsely, taking a long pull on her beer.

The last house they lived in. Shit, right…it must have been where her family was killed.

 _Damn it, Dean._

He wasn't used to seeing her this vulnerable. He'd caught glimpses of it when she'd bring up her past to give him some advice, or when he'd been dying, but he hadn't seen _this_ much vulnerability. He could see her cracking even now, putting up a wall and trying to withdraw for protection, and he didn't even know her that well.

Not as well as he would have liked, anyway. For all the time they'd spent together, and how comfortable he'd grown to be around her, he didn't know her as well as he should have.

Chances were he was just going to keep fucking up if he kept beating around the bush, so Dean did his best to go right to the heart of the issue without being painfully direct.

"Listen…I'm not good at the whole…emotion sharing thing…" he started, and to his surprise, Deja cracked a weak smile.

"That makes two of us."

He paused, staring at her for a moment. "Well…that makes me feel a little better," he admitted, setting his beer on the table and leaning forward. "But…I saw…earlier, and I wanted to know if there's anything I can do."

Deja looked up at him—finally—and to his surprise her eyes suddenly shone, tears barely held back. Since it was out there that he'd already seen what was on the other side of the wall she was trying to put up, it simply crumbled, a few tears leaking past her control.

She didn't tell him why she'd been crying.

She didn't tell him what was hurting her so badly right now.

Despite the fact she was rapidly unraveling before him for reasons he wasn't privy to, she didn't break down sobbing.

"Make me forget," she whispered softly. "I remembered, but I don't want to. It's easier to forget. Just make me forget…"

Dean left his beer on the table, coming to sit beside the suddenly fragile seeming woman before him and putting an arm around her shoulders.

"I'll do my best."


	11. Chapter 10: The Benders, Part 2

A lot of people who had met Dean would think that the night before, he'd tried to help Deja forget with sex and booze, since that was the way a lot of people tried to forget things, even Dean himself on numerous occasions. Especially since they'd woken up in the same bed together.

But that wasn't what happened at all.

There'd been no sharing of whatever heart-wrenching story had been eating Deja alive that night—if she couldn't bear to think of it, he wasn't about to force her to talk about it, and she clearly didn't want to talk about it. And just like he said, he wasn't good at the whole sharing feelings thing.

She never got past the one beer he'd originally pulled out for her—he'd never finished his, either. So both of them had been completely sober, at the most only lightly buzzed.

The only piece of clothing to be shed were their jackets so they were a little more comfortable.

There'd been no touching, no wandering hands, not even a chaste kiss on the top of her head.

He'd held her as she cried, and damn had she cried. But she never once said why. She'd simply clutched to him while he gently rubbed her arm and waited for her to let it all out, chin resting atop her head. Once the tears stopped, she'd been exhausted, and Dean had started to gather her up into his arms with every intention of bringing her back to her room before she protested with one soft-spoken stay, clutching to the front of his shirt, and he'd changed directions, laying her down on his bed, him close behind her as even tired as she was she didn't relinquish her hold on him, always having one hand on him in a silent plea for companionship.

He hadn't slept until he was certain Deja had fallen asleep, and even then it wasn't a good night's, solid sleep, as she kept having nightmares and stirring restlessly in his arms.

Not once did he complain. He held her all through the night, keeping her warm and secure and hoping that maybe he'd helped her somehow.

Despite everything that was going through his head about the night before, Dean had to pull himself to the present, quickly focusing in on finding Sam once more as he, Deja, and the sheriff walked out of the coffee shop, headed for the car to start their second day looking for the trail left by the camper that had probably taken Sam.

He had a question that had been nagging at the back of his brain ever since the sheriff had said _after we find Sam Winchester_ , and he had to ask it before he got back in the car with the officer.

"Okay, officer…Look, I don't mean to press my luck…" Dean started to say, but the sheriff cut him off

"Your luck is so pressed," she said, giving him a pointed look.

"Right," Dean said slowly, reminding himself to tread lightly around her. "I was wondering, why are you helping me out, anyway? Why don't you just lock us both up?"

The sheriff glanced between Dean and Deja, who was watching the sheriff quietly from Dean's side—she'd almost been as quiet as she'd been last night, but with less of a depressed air about her, and more genuine smiles.

"My brother Riley disappeared three years ago…a lot like Sam. We searched for him, but…nothing. I know what it's like to feel responsible for someone, and for them…" The sheriff trailed off, not meeting Dean's eyes as she momentarily lost herself in the past. "Come on, let's keep at it," she finished abruptly, gesturing for everyone to get in the car.

Dean's gaze followed the woman for a moment, and for the briefest flash of a second he worried if he would find Sam, if all of these people had gone missing with no one catching so much as a steady lead to go off of.

No sooner had the thought left him did he feel a familiar, feminine but calloused hand slip into his own, giving his hand a brief but reassuring squeeze. "We'll find him," Deja told him, her voice quiet but confident and steady before she let go and slipped into the back seat. Dean smiled slightly to himself at the gesture.

Maybe he had helped last night.

* * *

"W-w-wait, pull over here, pull over!"

The sheriff hadn't even turned off the car before Dean let himself out, opening Deja's door to let her out since she was trapped in the back like it had child safety locks. She could instantly see why Dean had practically leapt out of the car, as they had finally found a backroad that branched off the route the camper had taken. Dean was already moving towards the muddy path, the sheriff taking a few seconds to catch up to the two hunters.

"This is the first turn off I've seen so far," Dean said, peering down the path that cut right through the woods.

"You two stay here, I'll check it out," the sheriff said with a firm tone. Deja snorted softly.

"No way," Dean said casually, still moving with Deja on one side and the sheriff on the other.

"Hey. You're both civilians. And I think you might be a felon," the sheriff said sternly, looking at Dean with the comment about felony. "I'm not taking you with me."

"You're not going without us," Dean replied stubbornly while Deja folded her arms over her chest, watching the pair in silence. The sheriff sighed in frustration.

"All right. You _promise_ you won't get involved? You'll let me handle it?" She asked, stressing her two conditions.

"Yeah, I promise," Dean said a little too flippantly.

 _Liar_ , Deja couldn't help but think.

The sheriff held out a hand to Dean. "Shake on it."

Dean gave her a really look, but shook anyway to satisfy her.

It turned out that was a big mistake, as with a flash of silver and an audible click, there was a cuff on his wrist. As soon as Deja realized they were about to be restrained, she turned and bolted, jumping over the iron gate that was on most rural ranch and farm fence entrances, her speed unhindered as the gate rattled under her weight before she sprinted off the path to blend into the woods, the sheriff's shouts fading behind her as she kept running.

Apparently, the sheriff decided to stick with the one she'd already cuffed and keep an eye out for the flighty one, because she didn't hear a pursuit. She kept running though, making sure she was well out of sight and range of the sheriff before she finally slowed, looking back in the direction she'd just run from. She waited for a few minutes, simply listening to the sounds of the woods in the afternoon, before she started to trek back, banking a little wider to come out by the fence instead of the gate.

She wasn't stupid—she wasn't going to try and take on whoever had Sam by herself. And Dean probably wouldn't forgive her if she didn't double back for him anyway.

Crouching low to the ground and keeping her footsteps as light as possible, Deja slowly made her way through the woods, keeping an eye on her surroundings to make sure no one came at her with any nasty surprises. Gradually, the woods thinned out until they eventually gave way to cleared land on the other side of a barbed wire fence. Deja scoffed at the simplicity of the fence, easily prying two of the wires apart wide enough for her to slip through without getting caught on anything. She snapped a twig when she finally fit all the way through, and she heard a laugh off to her side.

"What do you know, the Cheetah Girl returns. I didn't know you could run that fast," Dean teased as she turned and jogged over to him. She gave him an odd look.

"Okay, one, please don't make that reference again, it's weird coming from you. Two…why do you always give me kids show references? _Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Cheetah Girls_ …You know what, from here on out, you're Drake, and Sam is Josh," she grumbled, looking at the handcuffs that had him stuck to the driver's side door.

"Does that make you Megan?" Dean returned playfully.

Deja snorted softly, flipping her hair in a showy manner. "Why, thank you for saying I'm smarter than both of you," she said as if she was extremely flattered. Dean scowled.

"And evil…"

"I'll remember that," Deja murmured, reaching up into her hair and slowly wiggling out a bobby pin she had hanging from the hair in the middle of the back of her head. Dean stared as she started picking the lock on his handcuffs with the bobby pin, at a loss for words for a few minutes before he found his voice again.

"How the Hell…you keep a bobby pin in your hair? How does it not fall out?" he asked, stupefied.

"Well, you never know when you need to pick a lock, so yes, I always have one tucked away. As for how, my hair's thick enough I just need to lift a clump of hair from the back, stick the bobby pin onto the hair left in the back, drop my hair, and I'm good. It stays in place until I pull it out, and it's hidden by all the hair I hid it under." She winked, the cuffs falling free from the car as she took his hand into hers and started to undo the cuffs from his wrist. "The perks of having long, thick hair."

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," Deja murmured, the cuffs finally falling away. She handed them to Dean, who stuffed them in one of his jacket pockets. "Come on, who knows what trouble the sheriff's found herself in. We'll have to be careful—I don't know how many of them there are, and it's going to be dark soon."

"Lead the way, Lara Croft."

Deja smiled at the nickname upgrade. "Better."

"Eh…I still have yet to find one that I think fits you properly."

"Keep searching, I'm sure you'll find something eventually," Deja chuckled, leading him over the gate and onto the property of what was hopefully Sam's kidnappers. After a little while of walking along the path, they suddenly heard the rumble of an old engine, one that squealed loud enough it grated on Deja's ears. Dean grabbed her arm, pulling her into the trees at a sprint—she didn't bother resisting, knowing they had to duck and hide before they were caught, and they had to find someone reliable for cover. It was too light out still for them to simply disappear into the trees. So far into the trees, Dean simply yanked her down to the ground where they lay flat and perfectly still, their backs to the pathway, which meant all they could do was wait, listen, and pray that whoever was driving the rust bucket didn't notice them. Dean's fingers brushed against hers as they lay there, giving what portion of her hand was under his a slight squeeze of reassurance as the vehicle continued on, thankfully. Dean helped her to her feet, and they continued plunging deeper into the woods at a hurried pace.

"It's too light out right now—we can't really sneak around without getting noticed," Deja admitted. "We might have to wait until it starts getting dark to poke around the property."

"I don't know how long we can afford to wait, though," Dean murmured, casting his gaze back towards the path as they heard not only the rust bucket, but a smoother engine moving along the path deeper into the property.

"I take it the sheriff got jumped too," Deja said quietly. They were deep enough in the woods now they could distantly hear the vehicles on the path, but they couldn't see them, which meant they couldn't be seen.

"Then we've got two people to rescue. Come on, we can at least scope out the place from a distance and figure out where we can start looking for Sam and the sheriff," Dean said softly, hand falling to her elbow as he led her through the trees and towards the kidnapper's property.

* * *

It was dusk by the time Dean and Deja finally got the chance to sneak into the old barn on the farm property. They had already spotted the camper that the traffic cameras had caught, and when checking the back part of the property they found a graveyard of cars from all over, but no people.

Deja had suggested they check the old barn, but they had been forced to wait until they were sure no one was watching them to try and slip inside. Dean went in first, Deja watching his back as they carefully slipped inside. The door groaned open, and glancing inside Deja saw that the place wasn't lit, light coming in from holes in the building.

Dean took his sweet time walking into the room barn, muttering something under his breath about crazy backwoods dwellers as he looked at the random blades and chains hanging in random places, sometimes even from the ceiling. Deja remained by the door, wanting to make sure no one was coming so that they wouldn't be caught off guard by the kidnappers.

Dean hadn't even been inside for a full minute before Deja heard him say the one thing that let her know everything was going to be all right, now.

"Sam?" Dean asked, and his question was met by a familiar laugh that helped Deja finally lose some of the tension she'd been carrying with her for too long. Hopefully it did the same for Dean. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Sam's voice said simply, and Deja looked back to see Dean pound happily against the iron bars of some strange cage.

"Damn, it's good to see you!" Dean exclaimed, the smile evident in his voice from the relief at having found his brother.

"How did you get out of the cuffs?" came the sheriff's voice from the cage adjacent the one Sam was in, and Deja decided now was the time to speak up, pulling into the room once she was sure the coast was still clear to come within view of the cages.

"That would be my fault—and thank God for me, cause that screeching rust bucket came down the trail not too long after we started making our way through the woods," Deja stated, giving the sheriff a sly grin before she turned to face Sam, who was gazing at her in surprise.

" _Deja_? What are you doing here?" Sam asked as Dean started to circle the cage Sam was in, inspecting it to figure out how he was going to get his brother out.

"Well, if you'd stuck around in the bar a few minutes longer, maybe we could have had a few beers and talked about what I've been up to," Deja teased lightly, leaning against the cage. Dean came to the door and grimaced, staring at the contraption in front of him.

"Oh…these locks look like they're going to be a _bitch_ ," he all but whined.

"Well, there's some kind of automatic control right there," Sam told him, pointing to what looked like a breaker box through his cage.

"Have you seen them?" Dean asked as he made his way over to the box Sam was pointing to.

"Yeah. Dude, they're just _people_ ," Sam said with a shake of his head.

"And they jumped you? You must be getting a little rusty there, kiddo." Sam scoffed at Dean's jab, leaning back against the bars and watching Dean. "What do they want?"

"I don't know. They let Jenkins go, but…it was some sort of trap," Sam told him while Dean tried a few buttons in the small breaker box. Nothing happened. "It doesn't make any sense to me."

"Well, that's the point. You know, with our…" Deja coughed pointedly to get Dean's attention, inclining her head towards the sheriff who was listening avidly to every word the boys were saying. "…our usual playmates, there's rules, there's patterns. But with people…they're just crazy."

"See anything else out there?" Sam asked as Dean returned to inspecting the cages since the breaker box hadn't given him any results.

"Ah…yeah, there's about a dozen junk cars hidden out back, plates from all over, so I'm thinking when they take someone, they take their car, too."

"Did you see a black mustang out there, about ten years old?" the sheriff asked, suddenly cutting into their conversation.

"Yeah, actually, I did." The sheriff simply started to nod, and after a few moments of silence Dean continued. "Your brother's…I'm sorry."

The sheriff didn't reply, so Dean turned back to what he was doing, looking at the wires that connected the cages to the breaker box.

"Let's get you guys out of here, and then we'll take care of those bastards." Dean whipped around to face Sam. "This thing takes a key. Key?"

"I-I don't know," Sam said with a shrug.

"All right, we better go find it," Dean said, lightly tapping Deja's shoulder to get her moving. They almost made it to the door when Sam's voice stopped them.

"Hey!" he called, waiting until Dean turned to face him to continue. "Be careful."

"Yeah," Dean acknowledge in a distracted tone before he and Deja left the barn cautiously, finding a safe place to lie low until it got dark enough for them to safely find a way to sneak into the house.

* * *

They slipped into the house under cover of darkness, shimmying through the rectangular window that would allow them to drop into the basement without making too much noise. Dean went in first, and he helped Deja slide in with a little less noise than he'd made, Dean clicking on his flashlight once both of them had their feet firmly on the ground.

Dean caught Deja grimacing out of the corner of his eyes as they got a good look at their surroundings, taking in not only the disturbingly high amount of twisted-looking weaponry, but also the jars of…mysterious substances.

"This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" she muttered as Dean passed the flashlight's beam across several of the jars, tapping on one that seemed to house a human brain.

"Yikes," he muttered, moving away from the jars and guiding them deeper into the basement. He paused when the small shaft of light landed on a bunch of pictures threaded into mesh wiring, and he frowned, then blanched when he got close enough to see it was three different men pictured posing with slain humans like they were trophies.

"That's just…that's just sick," Deja stated, looking away to search instead for the door.

"I'll say it again…demons I get—people are crazy," Dean said with a sigh before he too moved away from the pictures, taking the lead once more until he finally found the stairs. Clicking off the light, he took point to start carefully walking up the steps, testing each board to make sure it wouldn't creak and give him away as they slowly made their way up the steps. When they reached the top, Dean slowly peeked his head around the corner to make sure the coast was clear before he gestured Deja to follow him and the two carefully stepped out of the basement stairwell into the front hall. There was some sort of upbeat music playing through the house, and a sound that seemed similar to rattling tin was coming from the room just around the corner.

Dean walked carefully forward, eyes glued on the doorway on their immediate right as he tried to sneak by without whoever was inside noticing them. Deja gave him a heart attack when she suddenly grabbed his arm to stop him. But before he could even give her a dirty look she pointed in front of him where he hadn't been looking. Following her finger, he saw he'd almost run into a bunch of human bones hanging from the ceiling.

What the _Hell_ was wrong with these people?

Ducking under the disturbing decoration, Dean hurried them forward, past the doorway so they wouldn't be seen by whoever was in the kitchen. Dean had managed to glimpse a man inside, but he didn't know which one from the pictures it was.

Looking around for something to arm himself with in case one of them somehow tipped the man in the kitchen off to their presence, Dean grabbed a board half his size with a giant nail stuck through it—what they Hell was that doing just lying around—and crept closer to the living room that seemed to be directly across from the kitchen. He could see a stack of keys and other odd trinkets on a table right near the door, and he just needed to lean over long enough to find the right set for the cage controls in the barn.

Dean crept over towards the door to the kitchen, leaning around the corner just long enough to confirm that the man inside was still absorbed in whatever he was doing before he quickly retreated to the box that was lying open on the table with an assortment of keys on display. His eyes quickly assessed the large variety of keys before him before he spotted one that seemed like it would go to the breaker box, and he very cautiously started to lift it from its tray. Deja had taken up position by the kitchen door to make sure the man around the corner wasn't going to abruptly finish his task, so Dean felt a little more secure in his task.

He happened to glance at a jar on his left, setting the keys back down to pick up the jar with a disgusted grimace.

It was full of human teeth.

Again, what the Hell was wrong with these people?

Dean heard a creak behind him and he stilled, as did Deja by the kitchen door. They shared a glance out of the corner of their eyes, then simultaneously whipped around, expecting a fight with one of the guys from the pictures downstairs.

Instead, Dean found himself face to face with a filthy and startled girl who had been walking up behind him. Dean cast a glance back towards the kitchen, then set the board down to show he wasn't a threat, carefully approaching the girl.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," he reassured her, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace.

"I know," the girl snarled, suddenly swiping at him with a knife.

No, _pinning_ him to the wall with a knife.

Deja was across the room in the next second, but the girl was already shouting. "Daddy!" she yelled before Deja clamped her hand over the girl's mouth while Dean rushed to free himself. Deja yelped as the girl bit her hand, cursing something under her breath that Dean didn't quite make out besides the words fucking rabies, and the girl shouted again. "Daddy!"

Boots pounded down the steps as Dean finally freed himself of the knife, flipping it around so he could use it as a weapon. He looked to where Deja was, expecting her to grab the still shouting girl, but instead she launched herself at something behind him as a man appeared down the hall and charged Dean. Dean barely had enough time to glance behind him and register that Deja had tackled a second man who'd been sneaking up behind him to the ground, leaving Dean to brawl with the one charging him from the front.

The man barreled into him like a bull, head down and everything, and Dean was knocked back into the living room, crashing into one of the bookshelves and smashing it into several splinters. The man backed off like he expected Dean to go down with that one hit, so Dean snapped up and landed a few hits before the man grabbed him and threw him against the other wall closer to the kitchen. He could still hear the girl shrieking, and it sounded like Deja had a similar scuffle going on back in the hall, but as he got to his feet the sounds shifted. The girl stopped screaming, as did the sounds of the scuffle in the hall, but Dean kept his focus on the man that was likely about to rush him again.

"I'm going to kick your ass first," he started to say. "And then—"

Several things happened at once. The man in front of him relaxed, immediately alerting Dean to the fact something was wrong. He then became aware of the fact that there was suddenly a blade at his throat, and he was being force to stand straight and tilt his head back to avoid having his throat slit.

He also heard the click of a gun, and as he finally looked back in Deja's direction he saw her standing with her back against a wall so no one could sneak up behind her, an arm around the girl who'd been screaming to hold her in place pinned against Deja with Deja's arm positioned so the girl couldn't bite her, and her gun pointed straight at him.

 _No…have a little more faith than that, Dean. It's pointed at the guy holding a knife to your throat, obviously._

"Let him go," Deja said, her voice calm and even. A chill went down Dean's spine as he gazed at her.

This wasn't the Deja he was familiar with.

This wasn't even the Deja that had picked off witches in a barn when he first met her like she was doing target practice with tin cans, or briefly tortured a witch to try and get information about her family's killers.

This Deja was scarier…colder. He looked in her eyes and it was like she'd flipped a switch that turned off everything that was her. These eyes were calculating, merciless…murderous, even. Her hand didn't so much as tremble, and despite her calm appearance Dean could practically taste the danger that radiated from her.

"Yer not in much of a negotiatin' position, sweetheart," the man who was holding a knife on Dean growled, voice coming from beside Dean's ear. He was close—close enough most cops wouldn't dream of trying to take the shot.

"I just came back from the trenches, you slack jawed son of a bitch, don't test me," Deja said coldly, gaze unwavering from the man holding Dean hostage.

"Here's what's really gonna happen. Yer gonna drop the gun and be a good lil girl while we tie up yer friend here. Then we're gonna ask some questions. If ya don't drop the gun in a few seconds, I'll slit yer boyfriend's throat while my boys go get the two live ones in the barn, and then I'm gonna kill them in front of you."

Dean's heartbeat sped up when the man dragged Sam into it, especially when the two men took a step closer to the door. He tried to tell Deja with his eyes to just drop the gun, but she didn't budge.

"They won't make it out the door before I put a bullet in them, right after I send one right through your brain."

"This close to yer pretty boy? A doll like you, shoot me? Yer bluffin," the man holding Dean scoffed. Deja laughed humorlessly, a cold smile flashing across her face briefly that made Dean's stomach churn.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me I won't pull this trigger if he bleeds one fucking drop," she said steadily.

"Oh yeah? Who's ta say ya won't miss n' kill yer boyfriend here instead?" the man asked as he shifted his face even closer to Dean. Dean would have leaned away from the putrid stench, but the man was starting to press the blade into his throat.

 _Damn it, Deja, just drop the God damn gun!_

"The fact that I'm a damn good shot, you mother fucking bastard," Deja spat. The man flexed, and Dean felt the metal of the blade dig into his throat in a well-practiced move that would have his blood spurting everywhere in a few heartbeats.

No sooner had Dean's blood begun to dribble down the blade did a shot ring out, and Dean tensed, expecting to be dead, for the bullet to have hit him instead with how close the man had been standing, or for the blade to have slit his throat anyway. Before he could even register what happened, a second shot rang out, and Dean heard a body drop to the ground near the door. That was when he realized the knife wasn't at his throat—it had clattered to the floor. The girl was screaming, but not because she'd witnessed what had just happened.

Dean's gaze had never left Deja's.

Deja had turned her body as she fired the gun, forcing the girl to turn away to where she couldn't see the scene before her.

As she fired the first bullet, she didn't flinch, didn't so much as blink—her expression didn't show any kind of reaction to the fact she'd just shot a man point blank through the head.

As if that wasn't enough, she turned without missing a beat and shot the man that had launched himself for the front door to go kill Sam and the sheriff like his father had said he would, that man landing in a lifeless heap as well. The last man standing took one step towards Dean, and Deja's gun was instantly trained on him, but this time she didn't pull the trigger.

"Don't," she said, voice quiet but full of warning. If he moved, he was dead, end of story.

And apparently, she wouldn't lose any sleep over it.

The man froze in place, eyeing the steady barrel of her gun. Deja stared back at him, expression finally showing an emotion, but not one Dean wanted to see right now.

Suspicion. Calculating suspicion. She was just waiting for him to try something.

"Dean…go let Sam and the sheriff out. I can watch these two until the sheriff is ready to take them into custody," Deja said evenly, pushing the now silent girl towards the remaining man.

It took Dean a moment to move, but even when he eventually got his feet moving to grab the keys and free Sammy and the sheriff, he couldn't stop looking at Deja.

He couldn't get her emotionless expression out of his head.

* * *

How well did Dean Winchester know Deja Floy?

He knew she was a mostly self-taught hunter, on her own since her family was killed when she was thirteen by a coven of witches. He knew that now she specialized in witches and demons as a hunter, but was still handy to have in a fight against the supernatural regardless of what creature it was.

He knew she drove a 1974 Corvette Stingray she rebuilt with her father when she was younger, a Stingray she called Rosanne and wouldn't let anyone drive other than herself.

He knew she loved cherry Dr. Pepper and always kept some on hand, just like she always kept a bottle of tequila stashed away for difficult cases.

He knew when she was younger she was scarred by the movie _Children of the Corn_ , was scared of spiders, was creeped out by dolls, and freaked out by ghosts.

He knew she was partially psychic and could sense dark magic and malevolent or vengeful spirits.

He knew she was religious, but didn't like being in churches because it made her feel judged, among other things.

He knew she'd once had an older brother named Hayden that she drifted apart from before he died, that her family owned a dog, and she'd lived in a two story house in a clearing in the woods at the edge of town right before her family died.

He knew she was twenty-four turning twenty-five this year—if her birthday hadn't already passed and they just weren't aware of it.

He knew she liked classical rock and pop, fifties music, Avril Lavigne, and occasionally listened to top hits radio stations to see if there were any newer songs she liked. She also normally slept in faded AC/DC long sleeve shirts.

He knew she was prickly about being complimented on her appearance because it made her feel objectified.

He knew she liked homemade chicken enchiladas, _The Untouchables_ was her favorite stand alone movie, her favorite place to be was Cape Cod, Massachusetts, and her favorite weapon was her M1911A1 Colt.

He knew she laughed at his jokes not because she was trying to sleep with him or cozy up to him but because she actually thought they were funny, she had a way of comforting him without having to say anything, had cried when he'd nearly died in her arms, and believed he was worth saving.

He now knew that despite all the smiles, laughter, teasing, flirting, and wise advice, she was apparently far more broken than she was going to let anyone see, and he most likely had only seen a portion of the damage she was keeping together with scotch tape inside.

He knew the she could look another human being in the eyes and kill them with a bullet at point blank range without so much as flinching or showing any emotion before turning and shooting the next person the same way.

How well did he really know Deja Floy?

All of this flashed through his mind as Dean stood outside of Deja's motel room, ready to knock but not quite going through with it yet. Did he want to knock? Would she answer? What was waiting for him on the other side—the Deja he knew, or the one he'd glimpsed on this three day case involving his missing brother?

Regardless, he wanted to try and get some answers.

Dean finally got himself to knock on her door, and after a few moments of waiting, he heard the door unlock, and Deja opened the door, standing there in her sweats and AC/DC long sleeve, leaning against the doorway and giving him a soft smile.

The Deja he knew, then.

"Dean—did you need something?" she asked curiously. Dean shrugged casually.

"Just…wanted to come by and talk, see how you were doing," he replied. Deja stepped aside so he could enter her room.

"Well, you don't have to stand outside to do that," she told him, waiting until he was inside to shut the door. Dean saw the three books she brought everywhere with her sitting on the nightstand and couldn't help but smile.

"The hunter's journal, the black magic records, and the mystery book…will I ever get to find out what's behind cover number three?" Dean asked, tapping the hardened leather of the gold dusted book with one finger before Deja approached and took the three books away from his reach, putting them inside a dresser drawer.

"It's private, if you remember, snoop," she teased lightly, sitting down on the bed. "Don't avoid the subject. You wanted to talk?"

He didn't know if he was relieved to be talking to the Deja he knew or disturbed considering what had happened mere hours ago. Still, he took a seat beside her, clasping his fingers together as he tried to decide how best to broach the subject.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about what happened tonight," Dean said quietly before looking back up at her. She'd gone still, watching him with an expression of clear worry on her face. "You killed both of those men, and you didn't even flinch—I didn't recognize you in that house."

Deja's gaze dropped to the mark on his neck where the blade had cut into his skin and drawn blood, a mark that had very nearly been a deadly slice. "He was going to kill you, Dean. And the other one was going to kill Sam and the sheriff."

"I know, that's not…not what I have a problem with. I know you were protecting Sam and myself with what you did. What bothers me is that you didn't react at all to killing two humans back to back, not even an emotion. It was like you'd flipped a switch and you weren't you," Dean said slowly. "Where did that come from?"

Deja was silent for several long moments, still not meeting his gaze. "Dean…there's a lot of things you and Sam don't know about me, a lot of things I probably won't ever talk about. I've seen a lot of things—a lot of horrible things—and sometimes even been forced to do some horrible things to survive, some at a far younger age than I should have been exposed to it. Things that leave a mark, and not the good kind." Deja took a deep breath, then slowly continued. "You don't walk away from the things I've seen and some of the things I've done without it leaving you scarred in some way, but I still try my best despite it. Tonight…it was high stress, with Sam being kidnapped and you being held at the edge of a blade and another threat over Sam's live…and I just came back from a high stress situation that was very kill or be killed for over a month while I was also protecting someone else. I didn't have time to cool down from that kill or be killed mindset, and I'm still adjusting to myself again. Sometimes, in those high stress situations when someone I care about is threatened, that bad, that mark, comes out. You and Sam are literally all I've got, Dean. I don't have a single friend outside of you two. So the threat of losing you and Sam sent me into that survival mode…I wish you hadn't seen that side of me, honestly. It scares me. But it's also the only reason I'm alive today, because it's saved my life on a few occasions."

Dean took everything she said in stride, brows furrowed in concern as he gazed at her for a few long minutes after she finished explaining. "What could you have seen that made you like that?" he asked softly, thinking once again of the emotionless look on her face, and how she hadn't even reacted in all this time.

Deja picked a fixed point to look at, her eyes glazing over as she seemed to drift far away for a few moments. Dean waited patiently until several minutes had gone by without a response, and she saw her knuckles going white with how tightly she clasped her hands together, jaw clenched. Cautiously, Dean touched her arm to get her attention and snap her out of whatever trance she was currently in, reminding himself never to ask that question again.

Deja jumped slightly at the contact of his hand against her arm, then smiled sadly at him. "Nothing you want to know about. Really, you don't."

Dean nodded, letting her know that he wasn't going to press again, and she rose to her feet with a sigh, making her way over to her mini fridge and pulling out two glasses and her notorious tequila bottle. Without a word she poured a glass for both of them, returning to her seat beside Dean and handing him a glass.

"If it makes you feel better…I did react. I just didn't let anyone see it. I let the reaction come later. I have a tendency to shove things away and deal with them later when I'm alone. It lets me keep my head in the moment when things are high stress or emotionally charged, and deal with the emotional value later when I can afford to think about it. I'm not immune to emotions, though, Dean…you know that," she said softly. Dean couldn't help but think of when she'd confronted him in the hospital after he'd been electrocuted, how she'd looked at him and held him when he was dying in her arms, and the night they shared with her clinging to him for comfort after crying her eyes out. "I do feel the weight of the deaths…I'm just forcing myself not to think about it. It's easier that way."

… _Make me forget. It's easier if I forget…_

 _But do you ever really forget?_

Dean didn't respond. He simply sat quietly beside her, processing that this ruthless side of her existed and could possibly come out again if he and Sam were threatened again, absorbing what she'd said about why she reacted the way she did. They stayed like that until they'd both finished their drinks, letting the charge in the room cool down.

"Regardless of what happened back there…" Dean said quietly after they'd both spent some time gazing at their now empty glasses. "I am glad that you're back, Deja."

Deja looked at him, a small smile playing across her lips as she slowly relaxed. "I'm glad to be back, Dean. There's nowhere else I'd rather be. Really."


	12. Chapter 11: Shadow, Part 1

They were just about to reach June, right on the cusp of May. Deja sat reclined on one of the boys' beds in the small apartment style hotel room they'd picked to stay in, a newspaper beside her, a can of cherry Dr. Pepper in hand, and several tabs open on the internet on the screen in front of her. Sam and Dean were currently not in their room, as they had gone out to talk to the police and investigate the crime scene for their current job while Deja did some research into the victims. So, she was enjoying the current silence until their inevitable return, continuously trying and failing to find some sort of connection between the two victims.

Things had finally calmed down again among Deja and the Winchesters—she'd finally eased back into her old self, and there wasn't any kind of family drama going on between Sam and Dean, either. They were simply drifting from town to town, cheap motel to cheap motel, until Sam spotted this particular case in the newspapers.

Two brutal murders in locked rooms—that was always worth checking out.

Deja chewed on her bottom lip as she continued to browse through the publicly available information on the most recent victim, a girl named Meredith, her brows furrowed deep in thought. If the research continued to turn up empty like this, she might have to hack into some seriously high-security databases. If that ended up being the case, she'd have to wait until Sam and Dean reappeared, just to be safe.

She'd never had a case that required her to hack into some high class federal database, but from the way Sam and Dean talked, they might have.

Deja heard the lock on the door unlatch and she looked up just in time to see Dean and then Sam walk through the door.

"Hey…" she said with a smile, cleaning up some of her mess and shifting over on the bed in case either of them wanted to take a seat. "I hope you two have found out more than I have, cause I'm drawing blanks in this corner of Chicago."

"Nothing ground-shattering unless you want to hear all the intimate details about the female officer Dean talked to," Sam said with a sigh, tossing the newspaper article they'd taken with them onto the table. Dean rolled his eyes, dropping casually to sit beside Deja on the bed.

"There was some EMF at the apartment, all the doors and windows were in fact locked with the alarm on and nothing out of place, Meredith was torn to pieces, and what they left out of the papers is that her heart was missing. The blood spatter, however, did make a symbol on the floor."

"A symbol?" Deja asked, turning to face him a little more. "Now you're talking my language—what was it?"

"We don't know," Sam said with a sigh, standing in front of the two on the bed.

"Yeah, neither of us have seen it before—we thought you might know something," Dean added, grabbing one of the pages to the newspaper beside Deja and drawing an odd Z like symbol with a circle in the middle, handing it over to her. Deja frowned, studying it for a few long moments.

"Nothing comes to mind instantly…I can start digging around for information on the symbol is someone wants to help me keep looking into Meredith and Ben. I've got nothing linking them so far—nothing of importance on either of them, really, other than another place you can look for…well, anything, at this rate."

"All right, so what's our possible lead?" Sam asked.

"The bar that Meredith worked at," Deja said, gesturing to her screen and pulling open the tab on the bar.

Dean leaned over long enough to see what it looked like before he rose to his feet and clapped his hands together, already moving. "I can check it out—Sam can stay and help with the research stuff."

"I can—I've been cooped up all—" The door shut behind Dean. "—day…"

Deja turned to Sam, shaking her head. "You know…I love seeing Dean this happy and at ease all the time, it's a wonderful change, but dammit, I can't keep up with him."

Sam chuckled. "You'll get used to it."

Deja sighed, glancing back towards the door. "Well…I don't think I want to get used to it—I don't think I'd appreciate it as much, then. I just wish he was in this good of a mood more often."

"Yeah, it is a nice change," Sam said, taking the spot Dean had just vacated beside Deja. "Though things are definitely better when you're around."

Deja paused, looking sidelong at Sam as he shuffled through the newspaper Dean had drawn the symbol on. "What do you mean?"

"We've kind of gotten used to having you around," Sam admitted. "When you left on that hunt, it was…weird, not having you around. Dean's mood definitely dropped, there wasn't nearly as much joking or lighthearted conversation—we both kept looking in the rearview mirror expecting to see Rosanne behind us."

Deja blinked, surprised but deeply touched by the statement. "Oh…well…it felt strange not being with you guys as well. I really missed you two while I was gone. Thanks, Sam," she said, giving the younger Winchester a warm smile and a brief, one armed hug that Sam returned. "Now…why don't we enjoy the silence and see if we can dig up anything faster than Dean can score a girl's phone number, cause we all know that's why he really wants to be at the bar right now."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I don't know if we're _that_ good."

Deja shrugged. "Hey, you never know. C'mon, I'll take the research on this symbol, you pick up digging on the victims. One of you felonious Winchesters might have to hack into some federal databases at this rate, anyway."

"You know, I find it very hard to believe that you have never had to hack into any kind of government database of any kind before on a case."

Deja winked. "A girl has her ways…"

Sam chuckled, shaking his head and stealing her laptop from her while she made a beeline for his to start a fresh hunt for details on the symbol. Sam also pulled out John Winchester's hunting journal, and Deja made a move for her books, just in case either of them had seen it before it and just didn't remember.

After that, silence fell between them, broken only by the click of keys, rustle of papers, and the occasional cough or soft clearing of the throat.

* * *

The music was loud in the bar that Meredith used to work in—though honestly, what bar didn't have loud music—and the place was crowded with lively people. Sam walked in first, being the larger of the two and able to easily clear a path to a table for the both of them. He waved Dean down, and Deja was unsurprised to see that Dean was having what looked to be a flirty conversation with the bartender before he spotted them and excused himself. Deja rolled her eyes, leaning forward with her elbows on the table Sam picked while he took a seat, opening John Winchester's journal so he could pull out the newspaper clippings on their two victims.

Dean checked out about three more girls before he even reached their table, a relaxed smile on his face as he took the seat across from Sam beside Deja. "Well, I talked to the bartended."

Sam didn't look up from the journal. "You get anything?" Now he looked up, fixing Dean with a knowing look. "Besides her number?"

Deja bit back a laugh, unable to help the amused smile slipping across her face as Dean started to defend himself. "Dude, I'm a professional. I'm _offended_ that you would think that."

Sam only stared at Dean with a look that let Dean know he didn't believe a word that was coming out of Dean's mouth. Finally, Dean gave up, a wide grin appearing on his face as he held up the napkin he was working between his fingers. "All right, yeah…"

Sam sighed, nodding once before _he_ moved into the responsible sibling role. "You mind doing a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?"

"Huh?" Dean asked, brows furrowed in confusion for a moment. Deja snorted, unable to hold all of her laughter in.

"Wow…" she said with a roll of her eyes, and Dean quickly turned defensive now that Deja and Sam seemed to be on the same team against him.

"There's nothing to find out! Meredith worked here, she waited tables, everyone here's her friends, everybody says she's normal, she didn't do or say anything weird before she died. So…" Dean gave a small shrug, and Deja took the brief silence to remind herself that Dean had his own…unique way of gathering information. Though she couldn't really say unique if she'd been a little flirty socialite herself to get information before. "What about that symbol, did either of you find anything?"

Deja groaned, and Sam shook his head slightly. "Nope, nothing. There wasn't anything in Dad's journal or in the usual books. I'll just have to dig a little deeper, I guess," Sam said, gaze roaming the room for a few seconds.

"What about the victims?" Dean asked, drawing Sam's attention again.

"Still nada," Deja chipped in with a shake of her head. "We kept digging around for a connection, but still nothing so far."

"Ben was a banker, Meredith was a waitress. They never met, didn't know anyone in common, they were practically from different worlds," Sam said with a small, frustrated frown.

"So, to recap, the only successful intel we've scored so far is the bartender's phone number," Dean returned, giving them both a cheeky smile.

"Doesn't have to do with the case, so…not even that," Deja returned with a playful smile of her own.

Dean was going to respond, most likely with some sort of sarcastic or witty comeback, but Sam had become fixated on something over Dean's shoulder. "What?"

Sam ignored him, rising from his seat and starting to walk away without any explanation, leaving a confused Dean and Deja still sitting at the table.

"Sam?" Dean asked again.

"I don't think he's listening, but something's got his attention," Deja said, pulling slightly on his arm to get him to stand up and move with her as she followed after Sam. The younger Winchester weaved his way through the crowd until he finally reached a table on the other side of the bar, his large stature hiding whoever it was from view as he touched their shoulder. As Deja drew closer, she heard a female voice speak up, and she angled herself to see a petite blonde woman grinning up at Dean's brother.

"Sam! Is that you? Oh my God!" The woman gave Sam a tight hug—which was kind of comical to Deja considering how tiny she was and how large Sam was simply in height—as Deja and Dean finally reached the pair, standing awkwardly off to the side as she pulled back to get a good look at Sam. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just in town, visiting friends," Sam answered, clearly surprised to see this woman.

The little blonde woman looked around expectantly, gaze going right over Deja and Dean, who stood just behind Sam watching the conversation. "Where are they?"

 _Standing right in front of you, perhaps_ , Deja thought, sharing a glance with Dean, who seemed to feel just as out of place as Deja was at the moment.

"Well they're not here, right now, but I…what about you, Meg, I thought you were going to California?" Sam asked.

"Oh, I did—I came, I saw, I conquered," the woman, Meg, replied.

 _Veni, vidi, vici, Julius Caesar,_ Deja's mind automatically filled in.

"Oh, and I met what's his name—something Michael Murry? At a bar," Meg added.

"Who?" Sam asked.

 _No idea._

"Oh, it doesn't matter," Meg said dismissively. "Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I'm living here for a while."

Dean cleared his throat quietly in an attempt to remind Sam of their presence, and Meg's expression twitched just slightly towards annoyance, but she kept her gaze on Sam.

 _Ah…so you do see our presence, your highness, nice to know you're simply ignoring us,_ Deja thought, tilting her head slightly to the side as she studied Meg a little closer.

Sam wasn't fazed, which only made Dean and Deja feel even more awkward. "You're from Chicago?" Sam asked her.

"No, Massachusetts—Andover," Meg said with a small nod.

 _Andover…I know exactly where that is._

"Gosh, Sam…what are the odds we'd run into each other?"

"Yeah, I know, I thought we'd never see each other again!" Sam replied with a small laugh.

"Well, I'm glad you were wrong," Meg said with a small smile. The awkwardness seemed to skyrocket with her flirty tone, and Dean looked down, clearing his throat a little louder this time.

Meg instantly scowled at him, the pleasant roaming traveler look disappearing in a heartbeat. "Dude— _cover your mouth_."

 _Nope, I don't like you—definitely a bitch in disguise. I've met enough of your kind to know_ , Deja thought with the only outward sign of her inner dialogue being a slight tightening of her jaw. Dean was taken aback but quickly brushed it off as Sam finally remembered the existence of his brother and Deja.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Meg. This is my friend Deja, and my brother Dean," Sam _finally_ introduced them.

Meg's gaze instantly locked onto Dean, mouth opening slightly in surprise. "This is Dean?" she asked to clarify.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed.

Dean got his signature playful, sly smirk that was rapidly turning into a grin—it even made Deja smile. "So you've heard of me."

"Oh yeah, I've heard of you," Meg said sweetly, though Deja's smile quickly vanished at the forced, false feel her tone had. A spark of tension ignited within the group, but it seemed the boys were oblivious that something was about to happen.

"Nice—the way you treat your brother like luggage."

Dean's smile vanished, shock flickering across his face as he leaned back at the harshness in her tone. "Sorry?"

 _Bitch, stop right there._

She didn't stop.

"Why don't you let him do what he wants to—" Meg started to rip into him, voice rising in hostility and irritation. Deja took a small step forward, placing herself partially between Meg and Dean and forcing Meg to look at her as Deja cut her off.

"Why don't you stop talking about things you don't understand like an uneducated stuck-up snob, Pixie."

Meg turned her gaze on Deja, her expression incredulous. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Deja said calmly, holding her gaze.

"Bitch."

"Look who's talking—You don't even know him, so why don't you back the hell off and mind your own damn business."

"Sad he needs a pithy attack dog to hide behind. Do you always fight his battles for him?"

"Do you always hide your cold-hearted bitch persona behind a sweet smile to lure in good guys and wreck them? Cause that must get pretty exhausting."

"Okay, that's enough," Sam cut in before Meg could reply, stepping between the two blondes and physically forcing Deja a few steps back away from Meg. She hadn't realized how close they got to each other—they'd probably been on the edge of their verbal spat turning into blows.

Before Sam could reproach her for her behavior, Deja and Meg exchanged dirty looks one more time before Deja spun on her heel and started to walk away without looking at either of the boys. "I'm gonna get a drink."

Deja had just tipped back a straight shot of whiskey when she was joined by Dean himself. She knew because the musky scent mixed with motor oil, gunpowder, and cheap but still nice smelling cologne wafted towards her, especially since he was leaning in to speak.

"So…mind telling me what that was?" Dean asked in a low voice, serious gaze leveled on her when she turned to face him, setting the now empty shot glass back down on the counter.

"I don't like bitchy people—that pixie is a bitch," Deja responded, resisting the urge to angrily jab her finger in Meg's direction. The bartender came over to refill her shot, an angry scowl on her face as she registered Dean leaning so close to Deja. Deja held up a hand in a gesture of peace, giving the other woman a pleasant smile. "Don't worry, I'm not stealing him—we're friends and this other guy isn't leaving me alone, so he's just playing the boyfriend for me so the guy goes away. You're…whatever is still on."

The girl's anger melted away, and she gave Deja a pleasant smile as she filled her shot glass. "I get that, you're fine. And _you_ I hope to get a call from later," she added to Dean, who gave her a brief but still flirty smile before turning his attention back to Deja, expression serious again.

"Really, Deja, what was that? You didn't need to jump down her throat, not for me," Dean said quietly.

"She touched a nerve," Deja said simply, finger tracing the rim of the now full shot glass.

"She wasn't even talking to you, or even _about_ you."

"I couldn't care less what the stuck-up pixie thinks of me, Dean," Deja said coolly, turning to face him once again, his intense green eyes locking onto her turquoise ones. He leaned back slightly at what her words implied—Meg attacking Dean had been what touched a nerve.

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Deja," Dean said steadily.

Ah, so that jab from Meg had touched a nerve with _him_.

"I'm not. I jumped in because…well, you weren't going to rip her a new one, you're too much of a gentleman. On top of that...well, you've been so happy recently, it's refreshing—it's needed—and her ripping into you like that out of left field didn't sit well with me. You don't need that crap, especially from people who don't even know what they're talking about. So yes, I jumped in, not because I was trying to _fight your battle for you_ but because it pissed me off when she attacked you like that and she doesn't even know you."

Dean was quiet for a moment, studying her closely as she threw back another shot. "I didn't know you cared so much."

"You know, that isn't the first time you've said that. Should I be worried you seem to think I care so _little_?" Deja asked, facing Dean fully. "When have I ever given you the impression that I _don't_ care, Dean?"

"You haven't, it's just…" Dean trailed off, unable to find the right words for what he was trying to say, gaze still locked with hers. After a few moments of silence, Deja nodded slowly.

"Got it. Well…I do care—about you _and_ Sam. Just in case there was any confusion over the matter."

"Right…" Dean returned, finally looking away, gaze lingering briefly where Sam and Meg were still talking. "Y'know, as unexpected as it was…it was pretty hot," Dean admitted, leaning forward on the bar and looking at her side-on.

"Why Dean, are you flirting? Don't let your potential score hear you say that."

"I dunno…is it finally working?" Dean asked, leaning in a little more. Deja chuckled under her breath, shaking her head and pushing away from the counter.

"I'll get back to you on that—be a dear and cover those drinks, it might up your chances. I'll be in my car when you two are ready to go," she said, patting his shoulder blade as she passed by and heading out the door.

* * *

When Dean and Sam emerged from the bar not long after Deja, she was surprised to discover they were going to be splitting up. Sam took the Impala to keep an eye on Meg, as apparently he had some suspicions that she might have something to do with whatever was going on here in Chicago, while Dean and Deja drove back to the hotel in Rosanne to continue looking into the symbol, links between the victims, and now apparently see if Meg Masters was an actual person, as requested by Sam. Dean thought looking into her was a waste of time, but Deja thought it was worth a look.

But she might have been a little biased in that opinion.

"Where is Andover, even? I haven't heard of it…" Dean murmured as he stared at the laptop in front of him, papers strewn out around him and a journal of his own Deja hadn't known he possessed open in front of him with a few scribbled notes on the pages that were open, notes about the symbol. Dean had called some people and finally scored with some guy called Caleb

Deja didn't look up from where she sat on—apparently—Dean's bed, scrolling through more information on their victims, her answer coming out in a distracted tone. "It's roughly thirty minutes north east of Salem, thirty-five minutes north of Arlington. Or, since it's a better known city, thirty…two minutes north of Boston."

The room grew quiet enough to hear a pin drop, and Deja looked up from her spot to see Dean turned around in his seat and staring at her in shock and confusion. "How the hell do you know _that_?"

"I'm…from Massachusetts—spent most of my early life there, despite the fact we moved around a lot. I know the state," she said evasively. A small smile pulled the corner of her lips upwards. "Fun fact, there _is_ a Winchester, Massachusetts that I believe is between Arlington and Andover."

"No kidding," Dean said slowly, watching her for a few more minutes as she returned to digging up information on Meredith and Ben and he probably filed the new information on her past away. Soon enough she heard the click of keys coming from his direction again, and she smiled slightly to herself, keeping her attention on the work in front of her instead of the man off to her side whose bed she was borrowing.

After a lengthy silence, Dean reached for his phone, a movement Deja caught out of the corner of her eyes. "Find something on Meg?"

"Yup—she's clean," Dean said, punching in Sam's number into his phone.

"Damn…well, she's still a bitch," Deja muttered, earning a brief look from Dean before Sam apparently answered the phone, Dean's attention shifting away from her.

"Let me guess—you're lurking outside that poor girl's apartment, aren't you?"

There was a long silence, a small smirk growing on Dean's face—Sam must have been trying to deny it.

"You've got a funny way of showing your affection," Dean eventually replied, shaking his head. He paused, and then, "Sorry, man, she checks out—there's a Meg Masters in the Andover phonebook. I even pulled up her high school photo. Now look, why don't you go knock on her door, and, uh…invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do. Huh?"

There was another long silence, and Dean shook his head before turning his attention to his notes in his journal. "Yeah, that I did have some luck with. It's, uh…turns out it's Zoroastrian. Very, very old school, like, 2000 years before Christ. It's a sigil for a daeva."

"Put him on speaker," Deja said softly, coming over to stand beside Dean with a hand on the back of his chair. Dean spared her a glance, doing as she asked so Sam's voice reached her as well halfway through his question.

"—a daeva?"

"A nasty, invisible SOB," Deja replied.

"Pretty much. Translates to _demon of darkness_ —Zoroastrian demons, and they're savage, animalistic, nasty attitudes. Kind of like demonic pit bulls."

"How did you figure that out—was it Deja?"

Dean held up a warning finger as he answered, obviously telling Deja not to spoil his moment of victory. "Give me some credit, man. You don't have a corner on paper chasing around here."

"Oh yeah? Name the last book you read."

Dean opened his mouth to reply, paused, considered the question, then decided he'd already lost with how long he was taking to respond, blatantly ignoring the fact that Deja had to bite down on her knuckles to keep from laughing out loud.

"Ah, I called Dad's friend Caleb. He told me, all right?"

"Yeah," Sam laughed, and Dean rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Anyway, here's the thing, these, uh, these daevas, they have to be summoned. Conjured."

"So, someone's controlling it?" Sam asked.

"Bingo—someone's dabbling in the dark stuff again," Deja said with a sigh.

"That's what I'm saying," Dean said, only a hint of annoyance leaking into his tone. "And, ah, from what I gather, it's pretty risky business, too. I mean, these suckers tend to bite the hand that feeds them…and the arms…and the torsos…"

"I think he gets the picture, Dean," Deja said patiently.

"So what do they look like?"

"Well, nobody knows, no one's seen them for a couple of millennia. Summoning a demon that ancient—someone _really_ knows their stuff. I think we've got a major player in town."

"Which means _be careful_ ," she stressed, her warning not only for Sam, but Dean too.

He simply waved away her concern.

 _Well, sorry Mr. Macho._

"Now why don't you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?" Dean asked, jarring Deja back to reality. She punched his arm lightly—since Sam wasn't here to do it.

"Dean! Seriously?" she said in exasperation while Dean simply chuckled unapologetically.

"Bite me," Sam returned, and she could practically _hear_ him scowling.

"No, bite her! Don't leave teeth marks, though—" Dean started to tell Sam, but Deja shoved him lightly, leaning closer to the phone.

"No! Sam, don't bite her, run in the opposite direction! Trust my womanly bitch radar!"

Dean gave her a look, like she'd just grown three heads or tried to turn him into a platypus. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

Deja jabbed a finger at Dean, shooting him a glare. "You shut up, you're giving him _terrible_ advice right now."

"I'm giving him _amazing_ advice, thank you—Sammy wants to hook up with a girl, I can prod him in the right direction."

"Not towards _that_ girl! Us woman have a way of spotting a rotten apple of our own kind, and _she_ …is a rotten crab apple." Deja briefly glanced back towards the phone. "Sam, _do not_ bite that apple!"

"That is a _terrible_ metaphor," Dean scoffed. Deja rolled her eyes.

"Just run the other way Sam, just—" She paused, realizing that the counter on the call wasn't there, and it seemed the call had been ended for quite some time. "I think he hung up on us…"

"You mean you," Dean scolded her, putting the phone away.

"No, _us_ , plural, you are not escaping blame on this," Deja scolded him, rolling her eyes as she returned to his bed. "Are you always horny as _hell_ when you're in a good mood?"

Dean stood up with a grin, approaching where she sat on the bed. "It's a golden opportunity…" he said suggestively.

Deja resisted the urge to squirm but _did_ cross her legs, not liking the advance even though she knew Dean wouldn't try anything without permission. "Again, I'll have to decline your _tempting_ offer."

Dean sighed softly, the sound coming out in a huff as he continued walking right past her towards the kitchen. "You're missing out."

"I think I'll survive," Deja returned, relieved that they were still in familiar territory where they flirted and sometimes made some suggestive comments but it never went anywhere. Now she was comfortable again. "Besides, I'd hate to steal you from that bartender."

The fridge closed, and Dean let out a soft _oo_ as he opened his beer. "Thanks for reminding me—I'll have to call her when we're done for tonight."

Deja groaned lightly. "I'll have to remember to retreat to my room when we're done, then. Or maybe further—maybe I'll go back to the bar."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, sounding offended.

"I don't want to see it, I don't want to hear it," Deja said with a shake of her head, pulling her laptop back towards her.

"You could always join in…"

"Um…no. And I don't think the bartender would approve either considering the dirty look she gave me when she thought you were trying to score with me, too, earlier," Deja murmured, keeping her gaze focused on the screen.

"Suit yourself."

"Whatever—now, can we get back to work? All we've got to do is find something to connect the victims, and we'll probably be done for the night," Deja said pointedly.

Dean chuckled, returning to his seat at the desk. "You really know how to motivate a guy, don't you?"

Deja snorted softly. "Sure, let's go with that."

Their quiet typing and clicking resumed, no more words thrown out between them to break the comfortable silence as they both focused on finishing for the night. At least until their was a knock on the door and Dean got up with a sly grin.

"Who's that?" Deja asked, since he obviously seemed to know, and if it was Sam he would have just walked right in—he had a key.

"That would be Amy."

"Amy?" A look of exasperation crossed her face as she tried to scooch out of sight of the door. He must have texted her, cause Dean hadn't made any calls to an Amy while she was in the room. "Really? You're not even going to give me a chance to escape before the bartender gets here?"

"No, not the bartender, the _perky_ officer of the law that was very helpful when we were investigating earlier."

Deja blinked. The way he said that…

Deja stayed out of sight of the door while Dean chatted flirtatiously but briefly with Amy, looking quietly in his direction until he'd come around the corner with two files in hand.

"Really, Dean? Playing too women at once?"

Dean gave her a wounded look. "I'm not playing two women. For one, I already spent my one night with Amy, and two, I still haven't called the bartender."

Deja nodded slowly, looking away. "Right…"

 _And this, right here, is why I won't sleep with you. You go through women like a change of clothes, and I don't want to just be the shirt of the day for anyone, not even for you. It'd just be another night, another woman, maybe you'll remember, maybe with time it'll fade away…but you don't double-dip, and it won't have any meaning._

 _I want a connection. I want something that will happen more than just one random night. I want it to_ mean _something._

Dean was watching her warily, like he knew he'd done something wrong but he didn't know what that something _was_. "Hey…you all right?"

Deja furrowed her brow in confusion as she looked back at him, pulling herself from her thoughts. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine—why did Amy drop by?" she asked, nodding to the files in his hands.

"Oh, right. Earlier today I asked her to pull the victim's _complete_ records to try and save us some time—even get some access to some little-known information. She came through," Dean said, waving the files slightly as he returned to his seat by the desk. Her brief moment of solemn contemplation didn't seem to have slipped his notice, however, as she caught him still watching her closely out of the corner of his eyes, a puzzled light within his green gaze. She pretended not to notice and remained calm.

"Well then, by all means, search away. I'll keep browsing through the internet until one of us finds something," she said with a sigh as Dean flipped open the files. She hadn't even finished a paragraph of her own reading before Dean let out a sudden, soft curse. She instantly looked back up at him, noticing that he was staring at the files with concern written all over his expression. "Dean? What is it?"

"I found our connection," he said quietly, getting up and moving over to the bed again to lay the files out in front of both of them. He placed a finger under the place of birth on one of the files so Deja could see exactly what he meant.

"Lawrence, Kansas—they were both born in the same town, then?" she asked, looking at the other file to confirm it.

"Mhm…" Dean confirmed, eyebrows still furrowed with worry. Deja paused, studying him for a few moments.

"You're reacting to this like it's more than just finally finding the connection…Dean, what am I missing here?"

Dean looked up, the worry creasing between his brows, mouth slightly parted like he was on the edge of answering a question, a far-away look in his eyes that was gradually fading as he came back to reality at her carefully spoken question. "Um…Sam and I…we're from Lawrence," Dean finally answered as he met her gaze.

Now it was Deja's turn to look concerned. "Do you think whoever's controlling these daeva's wants you here?"

"I don't know…I don't see why they would."

"It's a possibility," Deja murmured, looking down at the files again. "Let's just…wait till Sam gets back, we'll tell him what we found, and we'll go from there. Three heads put together is better than two."

"Yeah, I guess…who knows when he'll be done stalking little Meg, though."

"Well, he thinks there's something going on with the Pixie. I think there's something wrong with her myself, so I don't mind—as long as we're not sitting on this new information too long."

"Pixie. You're really going to stick with that?" Dean asked, eyebrow cocked upwards. Deja smiled slightly.

"Yeah, I think I will—I like it."

"Whatever…to each his own."

* * *

It wasn't long before the door to the apartment opened, and Deja and Dean came around the corner just as Sam rushed inside, hardly remembering the shut the door behind him.

"Dude, I've got to talk to you!" the brother's said at the same time. Several odd looks were exchanged before Deja decided to mediate.

"Sam first—you look like you ran here instead of drove," she commented, taking in his disheveled nature.

"Yeah, well…I definitely found something," Sam said before launching into his story of following Meg to a warehouse. He talked about climbing up the elevator shaft to spy on her, how she'd had an alter with human hearts, their daeva symbol, and all sorts of other heavy duty black ritual stuff there. Also, how she'd spoken to someone through a goblet of blood.

Dean made another lap in his pacing, turning to Sam.

"So, hot little Meg is summoning the daeva."

"It looks like she was using that black alter to control the thing," Sam confirmed. Deja snorted softly

"Told you she was bad news…" she muttered under her breath. Her comment was largely ignored.

"So, Sammy's got a thing for the bad girl," Dean teased lightly, chuckling under his breath as Sam rolled his eyes before falling back into seriousness. "Now, what's the deal with that bowl, again?"

"She was talking into it, the way witches use to scry into crystal balls or animal entrails. She was communicating with someone."

Deja shuddered. "Uhg, animal entrails…I never understood that. Why not stick with the crystal balls and mirrors, _why_ get into the nasty stuff like that?"

"Who was she communicating with, the daeva?" Dean asked, steering them back on point.

"No, you said those things were savages. No, this was someone different—someone who's giving her orders. Someone…who's coming to that warehouse."

Dean's gaze drifted from Sam over to the files on Ben and Meredith that sat on the desk, which drew Deja's attention as well. Quickly, Dean made his way over to the desk, sitting down and flipping open the files to stare at the places of birth once more before he looked up at Sam once more, his expression serious and somewhat shocked.

"Holy crap…"

"What?" Sam asked. Deja simply waited for Dean's answer as Dean glanced between Sam and Deja.

"What we were going to tell you earlier. I, uh…I pulled a favor with my…" Dean cleared his throat, " _friend_ , Amy, over at the police department. The complete records of the two victims. We missed something the first time."

Sam came over to stand beside Dean, leaning against the desk while Deja remained on the bed, watching the two brothers in silence. "What?"

"The, ah, the first victim, the old man? Spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn't born here—look where he was born," Dean said, handing the file over to Sam. Sam stared at the file before speaking in a soft voice.

"Lawrence, Kansas."

"Mhm, and Meredith, the second victim…turns out she was adopted, and guess where she's from?" Dean added seriously, handing the second file over.

Slowly, Sam took a seat across from Dean as that settled in, staring at nothing in particular. "Holy crap."

"Yeah."

"I mean…it is where the demon killed mom. It's where everything started," Sam said, still sounded a little distracted. With that, Deja finally caught up with the line of thought she hadn't been privy to since she didn't know that much about the boys' hunting origin story.

 _Holy crap, indeed. This could end up being_ the _hunt for them._

"So you think Meg's tied up with the demon?" Sam asked, leaning across the table towards Dean.

"I think it's a definite possibility," Dean replied seriously.

"But I don't understand, what's the significance with Lawrence? And how do these daeva things fit in?" Sam asked, voice picking up speed as well as urgency.

"Beats me, but I say we trash that black alter, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation."

"No, we can't. We shouldn't tip her off," Sam said, bringing a logical viewpoint to the situation to balance out Dean's _go in guns blazing_ attitude. "We gotta stake out that warehouse, we gotta see who—or _what_ —is showing up to meet her."

"I'll tell you one thing…I don't think we should do this alone," Dean returned, holding Sam's gaze.

 _John._

 _Hopefully this time he'll actually answer his sons._

Deja rose from her seat, popping her shoulder as she did so. "Dean, if you want to…you can go ahead and call him. Sam and I will start packing up what we might need," she told them.

"Yeah, let's do that," Dean replied, tucking the files away as they all rose to their feet, Deja and Sam leaving the room to go through the weapons in the Stingray's and the Impala's trunks. They kept the weapons separate so they didn't get each other's equipment mixed up, Sam and Dean's stuff in two of their green duffel bags, Deja's in one of her black duffels. Once they'd grabbed everything they could possibly need, they made their way back up the stairs, stepping back through the door as Dean was finishing up his attempt to contact John Winchester.

"We think we've got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom. So, uh…this warehouse, it's 1435 West Eerie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can," Dean finished softly before clicking the phone closed, back still turned to Deja and Sam.

"Voicemail?" Sam asked as he approached one bed, Deja headed for the other.

"Yeah." Dean turned when he heard the heavy duffel Sam had shoved everything in for now hit the bed, turning around to see the bulging bag and the temporarily empty one next to it. "Jeez, what'd you get?"

"We ransacked the trunks. Holy water, every weapon that we could think of, exorcism rituals from about half a dozen religions. I'm not sure what to expect, so I guess we should just expect everything, huh?"

Dean smiled slightly, pulling out three books and tossing them aside before he pulled out one of the sawed off shotguns, effortlessly starting the routine check of weapons before a hunt. On the other bed, Deja was doing the same with her weapons, loading the shotguns with salt rounds, checking her handguns to make sure they were full, the whole nine yards. For several minutes, the only sound that penetrated the silence was the _click_ and _shink_ of weapons being checked and prepped.

"Big night," Dean eventually commented, glancing at Sam.

"Yeah…nervous?" Sam asked, looking at Dean out of the corner of his eyes.

"No…no," Dean said dismissively, keeping his gaze down on the weapons in his hands before he peeked back up at Sam. "Why, are you?"

"No. No way," Sam returned, voice just as quiet as Dean's.

"Don't even bother asking," Deja added before either of them could turn to her, setting a container of holy water aside before moving on through her routine.

It was silent again for a few seconds before being broken once more, this time by Sam. "God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing? That demon?"

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, all right?" Dean laughed, though there wasn't much humor in the sound.

"Well, I know, I'm just saying…what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I'd sleep for a month," Sam said wishfully, both of the boys staring off into the distance while Deja watched them silently from the bed she was stationed at before Sam turned his gaze back to their weapons. "Go back to school, just…be a person again."

Dean paused in what he was doing, staring at whatever was in his hands for a few long seconds before he looked back up at Sam, doubt and concern flickering across his face.

Sam wanted to leave?

Deja kept her gaze on Dean, a worried frown falling across her lips. She remembered how Dean had been when Sam left briefly last time. That look was starting to return to his eyes.

"You want to go back to school?" Dean asked, still staring at Sam.

"Yeah, once we're done hunting the thing," Sam said casually, oblivious to his brother's reaction.

"Huh…" Dean said distantly, and the emotional wall he seemed to slam up was so obvious everyone in the room noticed it, Sam included.

However, Sam seemed to still be oblivious to the _why_.

"Why, is there something wrong with that?" Sam asked.

 _Damn…there's more family drama coming, and I can't escape without causing more of a scene. Looks like I'm just going to sit here quietly and hope that they forget I'm here until it's over._

"No, no, it's, ah…it's great, good for you," Dean replied evenly, hardly looking at Sam and keeping his eyes on the knife he was getting ready to strap to his arm.

Sam stared at Dean, still trying to figure out what was wrong. Was it really that hard to spot? Why did Deja see what was wrong, but Sam didn't? Was it because she'd seen Dean when Sam was gone or missing and knew how much he cared for his brother, how much he wanted him around? Was it because she'd been around when Sam wasn't, was it that kind of special insight?

"I mean…what are you going to do when it's all over?" Sam asked, and Dean's reaction was crisp and instant.

"It's never going to _be_ over. There's going to be others. There's always going to be something to hunt," Dean returned, the grit in his voice a clear sign he was trying to hold back what was eating at him. Sam pushed a little more, however, and finally got his answer.

"But there's got to be something that you want for yourself…" Sam started to say, and Dean finally snapped at him, voice sharp and angry as he cut Sam off.

"Yeah, I don't want you to leave the second this thing's over, Sam!"

Sam stared at Dean as he moved away, putting his back to Sam and facing the dresser.

Yup, Deja had been forgotten, and she wasn't about to complain. She was just going to sit there quietly and perfectly still, blending into the background until it was over.

"Dude…what's your problem?"

Dean stood there for a few moments, the silence deafening, before he let out a soft, humorless laugh, shoulders slumping as he put his hands on either side of the dresser, head bowed. He stayed like that for several seconds before he finally turned back to Sam, and Deja saw a return of the vulnerability Dean Winchester rarely let show.

"Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh? Why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?" Dean asked quietly, a slight tremble to some of the words he spoke with a gruffer voice.

"Cause Dad was in trouble…cause you wanted to find the thing that killed mom…" Sam said softly, thrown off by the sudden emotion that Dean was showing.

Dean was only further upset by the fact that Sam didn't _realize_ , that all he saw was the technicalities, his usual devil-may-care mask flaking a little more as he turned away towards the dresser again, voice louder but with even more repressed emotions leaking through. "Yes, that, but it's _more_ than that, man!"

Dean took a few more heartbeats to regather his composure enough to continue, Sam staring at his brother's back as he waited for Dean to tell him what was wrong.

Dean pushed away from the dresser, approaching Sam once more and this time facing him head on. "Y…You, and me…and Dad…I mean, I want us to…I want us to be _together_ again!" Dean paused as that sank in, a slight shine to his eyes. "I want us to be a _family_ again."

"Dean…we _are_ a family," Sam said softly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I'd do anything for you. But things will _never_ be the way they were before."

Dean searched Sam's gaze, and Deja could almost _envision_ him holding onto this ideal of family he wanted to be reality again.

God knew she'd held tight to her own concept of family, despite the fact it had been over a decade since she'd had one, broken as it had been at the time.

"Could be," Dean eventually said, the quiet hope in his voice piercing Deja more than the other emotions he'd exhibited in this brief show of vulnerability.

Sam nodded slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was steady, at a normal volume. "I don't _want_ them to be. I'm not going to live this life forever." Dean looked away, almost like he knew that his hope for _before_ was about to die. Deja wondered if he'd manage to keep it alive a little longer. "Dean, when this is all over…you're going to have to let me go my own way."

Dean finally looked back up at Sam, muffled hurt flickering in his gaze as he forced his composure back to how he usually was, but Deja could still see the clear message in Dean's eyes.

 _I don't want to see you leave again._


	13. Chapter 12: Shadow, Part 2

It was a little awkward between Dean, Sam, and Deja once the brothers remembered she was in the room, but Deja hadn't commented on the display she'd seen and didn't bring it up in any way, or try to force them into a situation to continue facing those emotions. She shouldn't have even been in the room for that conversation, but she had because of circumstance. She wasn't going to make it worse by dabbling somewhere she didn't belong.

There were times it was appropriate for her to give advice, and times when she needed to leave well enough alone because it wasn't her place. On top of that, she didn't really have a side in this—Sam was right, he was his own person who was going to make his own decisions, and Dean couldn't force him to stay if Sam didn't want to. If Sam wanted to leave, Dean had to let him go.

But Dean so obviously wanted, perhaps even _needed_ , his brother around, she wanted to try and make Sam see that he had a loving brother who wanted to be with him, and he needed to try and be there for Dean until Dean was _ready_ to part ways with his brother. Who knew how long it had been since they talked when Sam and Dean were reunited.

But again, this wasn't her business, so she shoved those thoughts aside and followed Sam and Dean under cover of darkness towards the warehouse Sam had said Meg was occupying, sticking close to the brothers and keeping a close eye on the shadows. It was a tall building, and despite the fact she was in shape and knew she could do it without much of a problem, Deja grimaced at the thought of climbing the elevator shaft to the top floor.

 _Just suck it up and do it, Deja_ , she told herself when she was faced with the climb, letting Sam go first with Dean insisting she go before him.

He probably worried she'd fall and wanted to be behind her to catch her if that did happen.

 _Nice confidence booster._

When they reached the top, it wasn't wide enough for all three of them to fit, so Sam and Deja had to see if Meg—who was standing with her back to them at the alter—was paying attention before they quietly slipped out of the elevator shaft and ducked safely out of sight behind the pillars in the room, Sam pointing a handgun at Meg to cover not only Deja's duck for cover but Dean whenever he managed to get out of the elevator shaft. After Dean pulled himself up out of the shaft and did the same thing, and they all drew into the shadows, pulling out their sawed-off shotguns in the dark behind stacks of crates in the back of the room with their gazes trained on Meg.

"Guys," Meg suddenly called out seconds after Sam had switched his handgun for a shotgun, still with her back facing them. "Hiding is a little bit childish, don't you think?"

All three of them exchanged quick glances, and Deja tightened her grip on her shotgun. "Well that didn't work out like I planned," Dean quipped, voice still quiet but not as much as it could have been.

Meg turned around, finally facing them. "Why don't you come out?"

The three hunters slowly emerged from the darkness, guns trained on the petite blonde woman in front of them. Sam and Dean were focused on Meg, but Deja kept casting her gaze towards the shadows on the walls, to the dark corners, wondering if the confidence the petite woman approached them with was because the daevas were here.

"Sam. I have to say, this puts a real crimp in our relationship," Meg said calmly.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam growled.

"So…where's your little daeva friend?" Dean asked, a small smirk on his face.

"Around," Meg said vaguely.

 _Damn it, I was right_ , Deja thought, her gaze now studying the dark corners around them much more intensely. She suddenly wished this room was lit up like the Griswold's house at Christmas.

"And those shotguns aren't going to do much good," Meg added, staring Dean down.

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart—the shotguns aren't for the demons."

"So, who is it, Meg?" Sam asked, drawing Meg's gaze back towards him, unsettling, amused smile and all. "Who's coming? Who are you waiting for?"

"You," Meg said simply.

 _Shit!_

She hadn't been looking up. So, she didn't see the initial attack as the daeva swooped down on Sam, slashing him across the leg and cheek and sending him to the floor. She did see where it was from the wall on their left, and shoved Dean out of the path of a nasty hit in the hair's breath of reaction time she was granted as the daeva moved to its next victim. Unfortunately, the action made her the next target, and she screamed as she felt claws rip across her arm as it threw her into the wall.

Her head hit the stone, and she was out.

* * *

When Deja came to again, the first thing she felt was the pain in her head and arm. The next was the sensation of ropes around her wrists keeping her bound to a pillar at her back. When she twitched as consciousness came to her in its entirety, she felt something warm against her fingers, something that reached back and brushed against her hand at a slightly awkward angle.

Fingers.

A hand.

Whose?

Deja opened her eyes, finding herself staring into the darkness of the back of the warehouse room.

Great, she wasn't even facing the action and would miss most of what was going on.

Craning her head, Deja tried to peer around the corner of the pillar to see whose hand had brushed against hers. She spotted Sam, unconscious and rather bloody, tied to the pillar adjacent to her, so the hand must have belonged to…

"Dean..?" she breathed softly in question, voice hardly audible. The fingers gently squeezed the first finger of hers it could reach in confirmation, and Deja reached her hand back a little farther so he could get a better grasp, even if the angle was awkward for the both of them. Deja let out a slow breath of relief, deciding if he was reacting to her it was good enough of a confirmation that he was all right since she couldn't see him.

But she knew he was there and alive. And across from them, she knew Sam was also alive because of the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Now the question was how they were going to get out of this mess.

Dean's hand urged Deja's higher, trying to get her to follow up his arm under the fabric of his jacket and long sleeve flannel. For a second, even though she complied, she didn't understand why.

Until she remembered him strapping that small knife to his arm.

Meg must have missed that weapon, so Dean could potentially cut them both free.

As Deja's fingers ghosted along Dean's arm, feeling for the knife and ignoring the warmth of his skin, Sam stirred over at the other pillar, jolting awake when his gaze settled on something in front of him.

Meg must have been right there, or watching him, or something along those lines.

"Hey Sam?" Dean asked once he saw his brother was awake. "Don't take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend? She's a pixie _bitch_ , just like Deja said."

Deja smiled at that, fingers grazing against Velcro. She was close, then…

"Yes…the whole thing was a trap," Sam said, voice a little hoarse but growing in strength as he regained his bearings. "Running into you at the bar…following you here…hearing what you had to say…it was all a setup, wasn't it?"

Out of Deja's sights, Meg laughed.

"And that the victims were from Lawrence?" Sam continued.

"It doesn't mean anything. It was just to draw you in, that's all," Meg said sweetly. Deja's fingers finally found metal, and she carefully started to slip the knife from its holder so she could start moving it downwards to Dean's waiting hand.

"You killed those two people for _nothing_ ," Sam growled.

"Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot _less_ ," Meg said coldly, cutting him off before he could continue grilling her.

"You trapped us…good for you," Dean said in a snarky tone as Deja started to shimmy the blade down his arm with care, not wanting to accidentally cut him with his own blade. "It's Miller Time. Why don't you kill us already," he snapped, an angry timber in his tone.

"Not very quick on the uptake, are we?" Meg asked in a demeaning tone. She really didn't like Dean, did she? She was still using her sweet voice with Sam, but flat out cold to Dean now. "This trap isn't for you."

Deja closed her eyes, her progress in passing Dean his blade halting for a few seconds as she leaned her head back against the pillar before she carefully, quietly dropped the knife into Dean's waiting hands, brushing against his fingers in comfort as they clenched around the blade before she retracted her hand out of his way.

"Dad…It's a trap for Dad," Sam said quietly.

"Oh, sweetheart…you're dumber than you look," Dean said confidently, no doubt sawing away at his ropes by now. "Cause even if Dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn't walk into something like this. He's too good."

"He is pretty good, I'll give you that." Deja heard Meg move closer, and suddenly she was what sounded like a foot away from them, no doubt right in front of Dean. There was a soft thud, and Dean's hand bumped into hers as whatever Meg did jostled him, his grip on the knife momentarily shifting so he didn't stab Deja behind him. He still drew blood—accidentally, of course—but Deja didn't make a sound, staring resolutely into the shadows as Meg continued. "But you see…he has one weakness."

"What's that?" Dean asked, sounding like he really didn't care.

"You. He lets his guard down around his boys. Lets his emotions cloud his judgement…I happen to know he is in town. And he'll come, and try to save you, and then the daevas will kill everybody. Nice and slow and messy."

"Well, I've got news for ya—it's going to take a lot more than some _shadow_ to kill him," Dean returned evenly.

"Oh, the daevas are in the room, here—they're invisible. Their shadows are just the only part you can see," Meg returned in a voice full of just as much snark as Dean.

"Why are you doing this, Meg? What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh?" Sam suddenly asked from his pillar. "And with whom?"

"I'm doing this for the same reasons you do what you do—loyalty, love," Meg snapped. "Like the love you have for Mommy, and Jess."

The bonds holding Deja and Dean to the pillar tightened as Dean tensed.

"Go to Hell," Sam hissed.

"Baby, I'm already there," Meg retorted in a playful tone.

Meg finally entered Deja's field of vision as she crawled slowly towards Sam, voice lowering to what was supposed to be a sexy tone but only repulsed Deja. "Oh…come on, Sam…there's no need to be nasty." Meg's lips started to ghost along Sam's throat, and Deja looked away, swallowing bile.

That was just…so wrong. On so many levels.

Unfortunately, she could still hear.

"I think we both know how you really feel about me," Meg continued. "You know…I saw you…watching me…changing in my apartment…it turned you on, didn't it?"

"Get a room you too," Dean said, thankfully just as disturbed, it would seem, by this display as Deja.

"I didn't mind—I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy…you and I can still have a little dirty fun."

"You want to have fun? Go ahead, then—I'm a little tied up right now," Sam returned, voice tense. Deja leaned her head against the pillar she was tied to, closing her eyes as she waited for Dean to get free. She knew it took longer when he was working at an awkward angle and trying to be quiet, but still, she didn't know how much more of the show she didn't want to see or hear beside them she could endure.

The knife chinked audibly against the pillar, and everyone froze, Deja glancing over at Meg and reaching for Dean's hand to try and stash the knife before Meg could come over and investigate. Dean relinquished the weapon as Meg stood to come over, and as Meg walked around in front of Deja, who glared silently at her, Deja passed it from one hand to the other, hiding it on the back of her hand on the side opposite Meg was investigating by holding it between two fingers much like a magician hides a coin they're making disappear.

It didn't matter—Meg could still see the severed rope, her gaze traveling between Dean and Deja before she grabbed one of Deja's hands, squeezing and twisting hard enough she was certain something was going to break. Despite her best efforts, a whimper escaped her.

"Leave her alone, _bitch_ ," Dean said harshly as soon as Deja had made an audible sound of pain.

"Hand it over, then," Meg said sweetly, pressing a little harder, causing Deja to gasp. She still clung tight to the blade with her fingers, though.

"I don't have anything," Dean ground out, and she felt Meg shift to check Dean's hand, then reach over to check his other hand…

Deja tried to stash the knife somewhere as Meg finally came to her other hand, but it was too late. Meg released the hand she'd been on the edge of breaking, swiping the blade from Deja and cutting her across the cheek with it before tossing it away into the darkness. Deja hissed, but refused to vocalize the pain from the wound any other way before Meg returned to Sam.

"Damn…" she muttered under her breath, glaring in the direction the knife had disappeared.

"Were you just trying to distract me while your brother and his bitch cuts free?" Meg asked Sam softly, and Deja heard an actual, low, angry _growl_ resonate from Dean at Meg's insult for Deja.

"No," Sam insisted. "No…it was because I have a knife of my own."

Before Deja could even turn her head in his direction, Meg suddenly grunted in pain, and Deja turned just in time to see the tiny woman on the ground, Sam free and clutching his head.

"Sam, get the alter!" Dean commanded calmly, probably watching as Sam stumbled out of Deja's sights. She heard a crash, and then the screeching of the daevas returned, mingled with Meg screaming before there was a crash of glass. Sam was at their side by then, easily cutting them free. Deja quickly whipped around to survey the scene, taking in the overturned table where the alter had been and the giant hole in the front window. Her arm hurt, her head was aching, but she rose to her feet as Sam helped Dean stand—apparently, Dean had been hit pretty badly after she'd been knocked unconscious, figures. Together, they made their way to the window, looking down where Meg's body lay unmoving on the ground.

"Well…at least they helped her fly for a few seconds instead of ripping her apart like normal," Deja quipped.

"So I guess the daevas didn't like being bossed around," Sam muttered while Dean leaned out the window to glance up and down the street in case anyone had witnessed Meg take a dive.

"I guess not," Dean replied before turning to Sam. "Hey Sam? Next time you want to get laid…find a girl that's not so buckets of crazy, huh?"

With that and a brief, tight smile, Dean turned around and walked away from the window, gently grasping Deja's uninjured arm, gaze zeroing in on the torn, bloodstained arm of her jacket and the cut across her cheek. "You all right?"

Deja shrugged, gesturing between all of them. "I'm no worse than you two. We can worry about bloody injuries once we're back at the hotel, all right?" she asked pointedly. Dean sighed.

"Fair, fair…let's get out of here, then."

* * *

"Why didn't you just leave that stuff in the car, like Deja?" Dean asked as they made their way down the hall to the boys' hotel room, Dean in the lead and reaching for the key with Deja behind him and Sam taking up the rear.

Sam hefted the duffel bag Dean was referring to higher onto his shoulder. "I've said it before and I'll say it again…better safe than sorry," Sam replied, all three of them glancing across the hall when someone screamed on a television set that was up way too loud.

Dean went in first, and as a result, he was the first person to see the shadowy figure standing in their hotel room, both Dean, and once she saw the same figure Deja, immediately going on the defensive.

" _Hey_!" Dean shouted as Deja reached for her gun, once again in its snug spot in a holster in the back of her jeans. Sam was rushing to unzip the duffel when the figure turned, stepping into the light.

At first, Deja was still reaching for her gun. But when Dean suddenly froze, then relaxed at the sight of the dark-haired man before them with a trim beard that housed a little bit of grey, she left the gun in its holster, fingers hovering near it but not drawing the weapon as she took her cues from Dean's body language. She stepped even with Dean but out of Sam's way, seeing the sudden, raw emotion on his face, lips slightly apart as he registered the newcomer that was now smiling at both boys.

"Dad…" Dean eventually managed and Deja dropped her defensive posture entirely at the word, looking back towards the third man and looking at him a little closer now, muscling through her immediate reaction of shock.

This was John Winchester.

"Hey, boys," John said, voice low and gruff. His gaze slid to Deja, who suddenly felt very out of place in the room. "Miss."

Dean glanced at Sam, then Deja, then started moving towards John, closing the distance between them in five simple strides to grip him in a tight, full hug. The sight warmed her heart as Sam stepped carefully towards John, and Deja glanced towards the door.

She didn't belong here. Not right now.

"Hi, Sam…" John said once he'd pulled away from Dean and Sam had reached them.

"Hey, Dad," Sam replied softly, dropping the duffel bag to the floor.

Deja cleared her throat softly, gaining the attention of the three Winchesters. She'd only been aiming to get Sam or Dean's attention, not all of them. "I'll be…I'll give you guys a moment," she said with an awkward smile, a smile that got a slightly warmer edge when she locked eyes with Dean and saw how happy he seemed at the moment. Without another word, she went out into the hall, shutting the door firmly behind her and simply standing in the middle of the hall for several long moments, stuck between returning to her room, or standing outside theirs.

It would be weird to stand outside their hotel room, right? But what if they wanted her to come back in and meet John? But what if they didn't want to do that until morning?

None of them had expected this when they returned.

Tonight was just full of surprises, wasn't it?

Deja stayed out in the hall, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed as she processed tonight. That was how she was when there suddenly came a loud bang within the room, followed by the sound of Dean all but screaming _no_.

Alert, Deja rushed back to the door, trying to open it but finding herself locked out. She grit her teeth, glaring at the door as she backed up slightly and then slammed against the wood. Her arm lit up in pain, but she ignored it, fueled by the shouts of pain she could hear inside as she rammed into it again, again…

"Come on!" she shouted as she rammed into the door with _everything_ she had, the door flying inwards and ricocheting against the wall with astounding force and finally letting her in. She registered blood, Sam and Dean lying on the ground with new daeva claw marks being carved into their flesh, John's cries of pain mingling with Dean's as one of the daevas ripped into Dean like a cat playing with a mouse, complete with Dean being tossed about by each swipe, be it a few feet or simply rolled over with great force.

Deja tore her gaze from the sight, lunging for the duffel and reaching in until she felt the flares Sam had shoved into their duffel bag.

That's right, she'd been taking stock of the weapons they had as well.

"Shut your eyes!" she shouted as she rolled onto her back, eyes squeezed shut, feeling a daeva's unrelenting claw rip across her stomach just before she lit the flare in her hand, washing the room in so much light the daeva's were banished. Her arm was on fire, all the nerves in her abdomen area screaming at her, but she slammed the flare on the ground, making her way to where she'd seen Sam go down. Once she felt his arm, she gave it a tight squeeze. "Sam, you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine," He grunted, though she could hear the pain laced through his voice. He was tough, though, so if he said he would be fine he would be fine.

"Get your duffel—that way," she told him, pulling him behind her so he was on the right path to the duffel. Next, she made her way in the direction she'd last seen Dean, using the end-table Sam had been lying by as her guide for where in the room she was. "Dean?"

"I'm here," he gasped, a foot off to her right. She turned, reaching out and feeling his clothes slick with his own blood, hand traveling north to feel a wickedly deep, pulsing, bloody set of gashes on his face, which made her grimace and her heartbeat speed up before her hand traveled south again, trying to get his arm around her shoulder.

"Come on, we have to move," she told him, the two of them struggling to their feet together as Dean leaned into Deja for support.

"Dad," Dean grunted as they managed to get to their feet.

"No way in hell we're leaving him, don't worry, we can get him, too," Deja reassured him around coughs, eyes still squeezed shut and no idea where in the room John was.

" _Dad_!" Dean called louder, coughing as he inhaled smoke from the flare.

"Over here!" John called, and Deja and Dean staggered their way in the direction of John's voice. Deja found him first, her foot thumping into his leg, and she reached down, finding his hand reaching up towards her. Dean and Deja leaning against each other, they managed to steady each other enough to haul John to his feet, and Deja slung his arm around her shoulder on her other side, letting Dean and John feel the way out while she supported them, doing her best to ignore her own injuries and get the two oldest Winchesters out.

All of them were practically coughing up lungs as the flare's smoke rapidly filled the room, but they managed to stumble out of the hotel room, Sam occasionally calling out to them from in front, leading the way out. Once they were a decent way's down the hall, Deja allowed herself to open her eyes, looking at the two Winchesters she was helping down the stairs in a mad rush to the exit.

They were both covered in blood, John with more claw marks than Dean, but Dean with deeper, bloodier cuts in multiple places. And the gashes across his face were as horrendous as they felt—Deja could only hope for his sake that they wouldn't scar.

But maybe she could help with that…

 _Not right now_ , she told herself. _One step at a time—get them out first._

The group stumbled out into the clear night air, headed right around the corner into the alley where Dean had parked the Impala earlier—Rosanne was across the street in front of one of the little shops. Once they reached the Impala, Sam threw the duffel into the back seat of the car.

"All right, come on," Sam panted as Deja supported the heavily injured John and Dean, her grip on Dean perhaps a little tighter than it needed to be. "We don't have much time. As soon as the flare's out, they'll be back."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Dean said, breathing still heavy as he fought for Sam's attention. "Sam…wait."

Dean's resigned tone concerned Deja, and she turned to look at him, worried about what he was about to propose. Dean leaned around her, looking past her to his father.

"Dad…you can't come with us."

" _What_?" Sam exclaimed, already furious, though Dean wasn't looking at anyone but John right now, blood streaming down his face from multiple sources. "What are you talking about?"

"You boys…you're beat to hell," John protested. Deja kept her gaze on Dean as his two relatives fought against what he was proposing, her supportive grip on the eldest Winchester son tightening. He glanced at her with just a flicker of gratitude at the silent gesture before turning his full attention back to his father and younger brother.

"We'll be all right," Dean assured him.

"Dean! We should stick together! We'll go after this demon—" Sam started to rail, but Dean cut him off as John carefully pulled away from Deja's supporting arm, weaving slightly but staying on his own two feet. That allowed Deja to focus more on supporting Dean, who was hunched over and leaning heavily on her for support. She wrapped her now free arm across his chest, mindful of his injuries as she helped him stand straighter, hand splayed against his chest—which was as slick with blood as his face, unfortunately.

"Sam, _listen to me_!" Dean nearly shouted, holding his brother's gaze with a determined set to his jaw despite his current state. "We almost got Dad _killed_ in there. Don't you understand? They're not going to stop. They're gonna try again—they're gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad's vulnerable when he's with us. He's…he's stronger without us around."

The tremble in Dean's voice had Deja's supportive grip constricting slightly around him in a subconscious hug, and one of Dean's bloody hands raised to gently grasp her wrist. Whether it was in gratitude for the gesture, to stop the gesture, or simply to gain more stability in his weakened state, she didn't know, but he didn't forcibly pull her away, so she remained clinging to him, holding him up, supporting his weight, feeling her hands slowly get slicker from his blood…

"Dad…" Sam asked as he turned to John who, when Deja glanced at him, seemed to agree with Dean. Sam grasped his father's uninjured shoulder, looking him in the eyes. " _No_."

Dean looked away at the gesture, at his younger brother who had such a rocky relationship with their father, pled with John not to leave.

And just hours before Dean had stated how deeply he wanted their family whole again, together again…and here he was having to be the one to make the hard decision for their own safety and demand they go their separate ways again.

Deja rested her head against Dean's, which caused him to turn into her instead of away, still not looking as Sam pleaded with John in front of them.

"After everything, after all the time we spent looking for you, please," Sam begged as John reached up to grasp his youngest son's hand. "I've got to be a part of this fight."

"Sammy, this fight is just starting," John told him calmly, drawing everyone's attention. "And we are all going to have a part to play…For now, you've got to trust me, son. Okay? You've got to let me go."

Everyone's attention shifted to Sam, who seemed ready to deny separating from John yet again. Dean's gaze slowly slipped from Sam to John as he shifted to see them again in Deja's supportive side-embrace, leaning heavily against her, head resting against hers and smearing blood across her face—not that she cared. Slowly, Sam nodded, reluctantly accepting that John had to part ways with them, he had to go. Once he'd finally accepted it, Sam clasped John's shoulder one last time before letting his hand drop away.

John looked at both his bloody and injured boys for a few long moments, locking eyes with Deja long enough to give her a nod and a look that said _take care of them, or else_ , before he limped by towards the truck that was parked further in the alley.

"I'll drive behind you two—once you think we're far enough out, you stop at the first motel you see so I can stitch you up, I mean it," Deja said quietly to Dean—whose breathing was erratic, like he was holding back emotions she could see in his expression even if his face was covered in his blood—as she helped him towards the door of the Impala.

"Understood," he said quietly, his usual…well… _Dean_ , missing from his voice. No fight, no flirty tone, no playfulness, no sarcasm, nothing, just echoing resignation as he accepted an order.

But she understood why.

John paused by the driver's side of the truck, looking back at his boys again, Sam standing by the Impala's passenger side, Dean supported by Deja at the driver's side. "Be careful, boys," he said in parting before climbing into the truck.

"Come on," Dean murmured to Sam and Deja, and after Dean had opened the door Deja helped him inside, all of them watching as John's truck pulled away before Deja turned back to Dean, backing away from the door. She didn't grab at her abdomen, hoping to pass it off as their blood long enough she could make sure they were all right before tending to her smaller number of lesser wounds.

"First motel…I mean it," Deja said, though there wasn't any threat to her voice before she turned and hurried across the street to Rosanne. The Impala pulled out of the alley as she started her car, easing out of her parking spot and falling into place behind the Impala as it peeled away, Chicago quickly disappearing behind them at record speeds.


	14. Chapter 13: Recovery

"What the hell is this stuff?"

Deja chuckled softly at Dean's reaction to the green tinted, not-so-nice smelling paste she had in a small bowl by his head, unable to help her amusement at the combination of his disgusted question and his crinkled-up nose as the smell reached him.

Just as she'd asked, Dean had pulled the Impala off the road at the first motel he saw once they'd driven a little over two hours outside of Chicago. Considering how much he'd been bleeding, Deja would have liked for him to stop earlier, but she understood he was just trying to get them safely away from the things after his family. The hotel he picked actually had two bedrooms, surprisingly, so Sam and Dean had separate rooms in the same little apartment-like hotel room. Deja had a double room herself, but she didn't plan on using it quite yet, not until the Winchester boys were well enough they didn't need her watching them with eagle eyes making sure they got their rest. She'd already threatened to take away their newspaper and laptop privileges if they didn't take it easy until they'd recovered, and she was pretty sure they'd gotten the message.

Her threat had also gone hand in hand with her demand that she stitch them up while they just focus on relaxing. There'd been a few innuendos on Dean's part, Sam had blushed a little, but she'd won that one in the end as well, going about taking care of them with professionalism.

The first one she'd stitched up, despite his protests and the severity of Dean's wounds, was Sam. She could subdue Sam and take care of him relatively quickly, but Dean would have made one _hell_ of a scene if she'd tried to take care of Dean before Sam. Now, Sam was in his room, bandaged, drugged up with painkillers, and passed out asleep in his bed, while Dean and Deja remained awake in Dean's room. Dean was lying on his back, shirtless—she was keeping her gaze _resolutely_ on either Dean's gaze or his wounds—so Deja could easily get to every injury. Thankfully Dean hadn't attained any injuries below the waist. She still had to wash his wounds of any dirt and grime that had collected before she applied her homemade concoction and applied the bandages or stitched him up, but she was going one injury at a time, so it would be fine.

"It's a homemade remedy, it'll keep those nasty gashes from leaving scars on your beautiful face," she said with a smirk, ringing out her wash cloth that was in a larger bowl of hot water. The Winchesters were going to resemble patchwork dolls for a while, with some wounds bandaged, others stitched, some with her special paste and some without. "It's just…herbs and such. I picked it up from a friend, and I already know it works—trust me, the smell will be worth it."

Dean eyed the paste. "I don't know…"

"At least you only need to have it applied to the wound—no ingesting it," Deja snickered, wash cloth in hand. "Now hold still," she said gently, leaning close to start to carefully wash the blood from his face. He had the gashes running along his forehead, a cut near his temple, and his lip was cut as well. Her fingers gently rubbed the blood both dried and some new away through the cloth, well aware of Dean's gaze on her as she worked. He hissed softly when she reached the gashes on his forehead, and she gave him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry…can't be avoided. It'll hurt worse later when I disinfect it, and you know it," Deja told him quietly.

"Don't worry, I can take a little pain, this is nothing," Dean scoffed, and Deja rolled her eyes at his bravado, carefully washing away the rest of the blood. Once his face was clear, she paused, staring at him for a few seconds. Dean shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, giving her an odd look. "What?"

Deja blinked, blushing slightly. "Oh…sorry, I didn't mean to stare, just…I noticed you, um…you have a little dusting of freckles. I never saw them before," she finished with a slightly embarrassed laugh, rinsing out the wash cloth before she moved on.

"Yeah, it's annoying," Dean said with a sigh. Deja shrugged.

"I dunno…I like them," she said casually, dropping her gaze to a nasty rip in his shoulder—this one was going to need stitches. He hissed a little more audibly as she started to clean up the blood near the wound, and she lessened the pressure as much as she could and still get the blood off, keeping her movements feather-light when she ghosted over the wound itself.

"Are you always this gentle with your patients?" Dean asked suddenly, the question sounding sincere.

"I try to be," she said in return, glancing back towards his eyes as she rinsed out the wash cloth again. "Why?"

"No reason," Dean said evasively, watching as she turned her attention to some claw marks across his upper chest.

Damn it, she couldn't _not_ look now, and _of course_ he was well-toned, muscular, skin warm against her bare fingers…

Deja swallowed and cleared her throat as softly as she could, steeling her resolve as she cleaned the blood from his chest. His breathing seemed to come a little shallower at her touch, and she sincerely hoped she wasn't turning him on right now.

To distract from the touch, she struck up random conversation, almost desperately searching for something to distract both of them.

"I'm serious about you and Sam taking it easy. Should I run into town and see if there are any good movies out to bring back so you at least don't go crazy with boredom?"

"That might help," Dean said, a small smile in his voice and his gaze still trained on her.

"I'll have to do that then. Maybe today while you boys are asleep. Those painkillers knocked Sam out cold, I'm willing to bet they'll do the same for you," she said with a small laugh.

"You know…you could keep us company, too—that would help," Dean suggested as Deja rinsed out the wash cloth again. Two more wounds to clean—the one on his lower left side, and the one on his right arm.

Then she could see about stitches, bandages, and her home remedy.

Deja laughed softly. "Yeah, I don't think I'm going anywhere anytime soon, Dean."

"That's good to know."

Deja turned back to the wound on his lower side, grimacing slightly at the sight—the daeva's had done a serious number here, the wound deep and the skin shredded open. When she touched the skin nearby, Dean trembled slightly in an instinctive flinch, and she reminded herself to be extra careful around this particular injury when she could help it. Wanting to keep herself distracted, Deja picked up the conversation again.

"Why would you think I wouldn't be around to keep you and Sam company?" she asked, seeing him clench his jaw as she started cleaning closer to the wound.

"I don't know," Dean answered, voice tense whenever she was touching somewhere close to his wound. "Maybe you want to spend some time alone, maybe you'll get another call and have to leave again for another solo hunt."

"You keep thinking of those maybes, you'll worry yourself to death," Deja murmured. "I'm not planning on going anywhere, Dean. You and Sam are hurt right now—you're my priority."

Deja let out a soft, bittersweet, short laugh after a moment of contemplation. "So not only are you surprised that I care, but you expect me to up and leave you guys when you're injured at the drop of a hat…" She shook her head, turning to rinse out the wash cloth again. "Didn't realize you thought so little of me."

She'd hardly gotten the sentence out when she felt Dean's hand close around her wrist, calling her attention back to him. His gaze was firm, green eyes burning into hers with sincerity. "Now you're misunderstanding me. That's not the case, Deja—it never has been."

Deja stared back at him for several moments, searching the intense green gaze that was unwavering from her face before she simply nodded in reply. When it was clear she really did understand, Dean released her wrist, letting his hand fall back against the bed with a sigh as she turned to his arm. She cleaned that wound in silence, leaving the wash cloth in the bowl of now darkened water.

"All right…disinfectant time," she said, not missing the grimace he made at the thought of having several nasty wounds disinfected. However, he didn't let out a single word of complaint, and once she had what she needed in hand, she met his gaze. "Ready?"

Once he gave her a stiff nod to let her know he was, eyes fixated on the ceiling above him, she started, doing her best to ignore the occasional grunt or hiss of pain that escaped him. No words were spoken between them, Deja focused on the wounds before him and the skin that flinched and quivered at the burning sensation while Dean kept his gaze resolutely trained _forward_.

Deja heaved a long but soft sigh once she finished, briefly squeezing Dean's hand before she turned back to her supplies. "Done. The hard part's over," she told him, reaching for her paste.

"That depends on how good you are with a needle," Dean sighed, shooting the paste a distrustful look. Deja rolled her eyes at his expression, getting a healthy amount on her finger.

"Stop with the dirty looks, Sam's going to have this on his face for a while, too, you know—he's got a nice group of gashes on his cheek, if you remember," Deja murmured, getting close enough to see the light dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose and under his eyes again. "Just hold still…"

Deja lightly started to dab her remedy into the wound, making sure it completely filled each gash but being careful not to cause him further pain, which meant this was going to take a while—but not insanely long. Dean's gaze was once again fixated on her, but she kept her focus on what she was doing, managing to stay completely on task until she'd reached the third gash and Dean spoke up.

"Deja?" he asked softly, waiting until she slid her gaze down to his to continue. "Thank you."

Thank you, again. But unlike last time, several incidents in the last twenty-four hours flashed through her mind, and she had to ask the why that they usually didn't mention. They kept the deeper connections to silent looks and gestures, and at most these simple statements like thank you. But she wasn't sure what he was referring to, so this time, she broke that unspoken rule.

"For what?" she asked, and Dean glanced away, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he looked at her again, expression and voice steady and serious.

"All of it."

Deja smiled softly at him. "Again…I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Dean's head tilted upwards towards her, but she'd already turned her gaze away from his eyes back to her task, eyes focused entirely on the fourth and final gash. She didn't see the flash of disappointment and spark of hurt in his eyes, and before she could look back at him by some off chance, he'd shut his eyes, letting his head fall back to its previous position while she worked.

Dean didn't speak for the rest of the time she spent patching him up, other than the occasional assurance that she was doing fine after he'd grunt in pain as she stitched up his nastier wounds. Once she was completely done and Dean lay stitched, bandaged, and with her home remedy where it needed to be, she heaved a sigh, leaning back in the chair she was sitting in and letting her head drop backwards over the end of the chair.

Now that the Winchesters were fine, she could find a corner to tend to her own wounds and then crash…

Deja jumped when she felt a hand brush against her bloodied abdomen, eyes snapping open and head coming back up to see Dean sitting up and staring her down with anger in his eyes, his hand now painted with her blood.

"This is _fresh_ —not either of ours _._ Why didn't you say anything?" he accused her.

"I was planning on taking care of it after you two were stitched up—I've got fewer, far less serious injuries I can take care of myself, Dean, no one needed to worry about it."

"Bullshit," Dean snapped, pushing himself to his feet. Deja immediately stood as well, a restraining hand on his uninjured shoulder.

"Dean, you really need to rest—" she started to say, but Dean cut her off, pulling her hand off of his shoulder and holding her hand in his as he met her gaze with steely determination.

"I'll rest after you let me clean _you_ up," he said firmly, moving over to take stock of the remains of her supplies. He picked up the bowl with the wash cloth, handing it over to her. "Fresh water and a new wash cloth…maybe some more thread, too."

Deja huffed, but knew there'd be no fighting him as he sank back to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. At least he was relenting enough for her to get fresh supplies so he didn't strain himself, as simple as the tasks were.

She _was_ going to enforce the bed rest, even if it made them cranky.

* * *

Once she came back, Dean gestured to the side of the bed behind him, the rest of the supplies ready at his side as he took what she'd gathered from her, turning around to face the bed as she walked around to the other side.

"All right…off with the shirt," he said with a sigh, already wringing out the wash cloth.

Instantly, Deja hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip with brows furrowed in concern. It was an obvious flinch, so of course Dean noticed it, his own brow furrowing at the action.

"Deja…I'm not going to try anything, you know that," Dean said seriously, trying to meet her gaze. Deja didn't meet his eyes, to his frustration, but she did grasp the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head, dropping the garment to the floor. Dean swallowed back the first instincts he had for a woman in the bedroom without her shirt, keeping his gaze fixed on the abdomen wound that was still bleeding.

It _was_ bad, just as he'd suspected. The daeva had cut deep whenever she'd been injured—perhaps in the hotel room before she lit the flare—and her wound was as bad as the wound on his lower side, except it spanned a much wider area.

Despite his resolve to stay focused on her injuries, as Deja shifted to lie down on the bed, his attention was immediately pulled to her side, where he stared fixated with lips slightly parted at an unusual scar that ran the entire length of her left side. Without really thinking about what he was doing, Dean reached out and gently brushed his fingers against the pale white lines that spider webbed across her skin like a lightning bolt—not a cheesy cartoon one, actual _lightning_.

Deja trembled under his fingers, goosebumps breaking out across her skin as she cleared her throat loudly to get his attention. Dean immediately pulled his hand away, managing to glance away from the scar long enough to meet her gaze. "Sorry, I…" he managed before his gaze dropped back to the scar. "I've never seen a scar like that."

Deja's eyes closed, voice low. "It happens when you get struck by lightning—it's called a Lichtenberg Scar, or Figure."

Dean's eyebrows rose substantially. "You've been struck by lightning?"

Deja was quiet for several long moments. "…not naturally," she said eventually, voice somehow quieter.

 _Something supernatural, then. And it looks old—she's had this scar for years,_ Dean thought to himself, taking his cue not to press further from how quiet she'd gotten. Tearing his gaze away from the unusual scar, he focused back on her abdomen, clutching the wrung-out wash cloth in his hand and getting started.

She only had the slash across her arm and the nasty wound on her abdomen—he wasn't counting the cut on her cheek or the nick on her hand he figured must have come from the knife in his hands when Meg had kicked him despite his efforts to keep from cutting her—so this wouldn't take as long as it had taken her to patch him up.

He only hoped he could be as gentle as she'd been with him.

Unlike Dean, Deja didn't talk the entire time he spent cleaning her up. She kept her eyes closed, head pillowed on the one arm she had folded behind her head while the other lay protectively across her chest. As his fingers brushed along her smooth, warm skin—washing, disinfecting, and eventually stitching her wounds—the only indication she hadn't fallen asleep on him was the occasional sharp intake of breath or reflexive twitch of pain.

And as he worked, his gaze kept slipping back up towards her face, the same question circling through his head.

Were they still in the same territory as when they'd first met?

At some point recently, the dynamic between them shifted—he couldn't pinpoint when, exactly, but something had changed. Things they said and did regarding each other held more weight, it seemed, sometimes more…intimacy. And yet, whenever he tried to test the waters to see if there was more there, he came back cold.

Like his miserably failed attempt to kiss her not even an hour ago.

They weren't where they'd once been, something had _definitely_ changed in the months spent traveling together, but he couldn't figure out _what_. And not knowing where he stood with her _bothered_ him.

Maybe she'd throw him a bone at some point and it would be enough of a hint for him to at least find stable ground before he accidentally screwed up somehow.

* * *

Who knew that recoveries could be such a stressful time?

In between the redressing of wounds and occasional re-application of Deja's home brew, Sam, Dean, and Deja spent _a lot_ of time together, and it seemed that only now, when they were confined to their hotel room, did they discover just how much they all loved to be out and about and hated being cooped up in one place.

Sometimes one of them would be intolerably grouchy, though for the sake of everyone's sanity they came up with a rule that if you were grouchy you stayed in your room. With that rule in place, no one had killed anyone else yet.

The rest of the time was perfectly fine—it was a new experience being completely at ease with the Winchesters with no hunting or constant traveling, and they did find ways to entertain themselves. More stories were swapped, especially now that the three were more comfortable and open with each other, and they watched at least a movie or two a day. Since Sam and Dean still weren't in great shape and sometimes needed a little help moving around the hotel room, Deja slept on their couch, so her room remained untouched and waiting until the boys were recovered enough they didn't need her immediately on hand, just in case.

At the moment, the three of them were gathered around the little table in the kitchen, a pizza in front of them and a beer in everyone's hands as they all loudly debated the movie they'd watched a few hours ago—The Punisher.

"It's just…I saw John Travolta, and I kept thinking Grease—it kinda killed the vibe for me," Dean was saying, cracking down on another slice of pizza.

"Screw you, Winchester, that movie was awesome—I'm gonna keep it on hand from here on out. I think my dad would have been proud of that Frank Castle portrayal," Deja said with a firm nod, taking a long pull from her beer.

"Your dad was a Punisher fan?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Oh yeah. Batman and Punisher—he loved those two. Punisher over Batman, too. He definitely liked the dark vigilante types." She paused, craning her head. "Now I'm tempted to use that popsicle trick one day…it sure would be funny as hell if it worked."

"Deja?" Dean asked evenly.

"Yeah?"

"Your sadistic side is showing."

Deja snorted. "I'm right, and you know it."

"You don't admit those things out loud."

"Not in public, no," Deja said, pulling out her phone as it went off shrilly. She needed to get a new ringtone…

"All right, Sammy, it's official—we're travelling with a bona fide psychopath," Dean ribbed, grinning unapologetically as he looked at his brother. When he didn't immediately hear a witty comeback from Deja, his gaze moved back to her to see her staring at her phone with a deeply worried look on her face, maybe even a spark of—dare he say it— _fear_. She chewed on her lower lip, completely still other than the thumb that thoughtfully ran along the keypad on her phone. Instantly, Dean's smile was gone, replaced with concern. "Deja…what is it?"

"I, um…" Deja said, voice distracted as she stared at the message on their phone.

 _They found you. Closing in. Get out NOW._

"Something's come up," Deja said eventually, deleting the message in one swift click before rising to her feet and already looking around for her stuff. Dean looked at her in disbelief.

"You're _leaving_ again?"

She knew this wouldn't be as much of an issue if she hadn't told him she wasn't going anywhere, that Sam and Dean were her priority right now…but this…

This still involved them. They just didn't—wouldn't—know it.

There was no way in hell she was letting Sam and Dean get tangled up in this, so to keep that from happening she had to deal with it _now_ , and alone.

"Not like last time. This is close, I'll only be gone a few days, and I'll come right back."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure another hunter can take care of it," Dean argued, rising from his seat at the table. When Deja didn't respond and simply started packing up her stuff, his voice grew somewhat louder. "You're still recovering too, you know—you can't go out there alone!"

"This is important, Dean," Deja shot back, straightening and slinging her duffel over her shoulder. "I'm not ditching you, you _know_ that. But I can't ignore this, and you two aren't in any shape to help, so I'm going alone."

 _That's just an excuse. Even if you were completely recovered I wouldn't let you come on this._

"Then wait until we are," Dean said, steel in his voice as he stepped closer. Deja shook her head.

"This can't wait. I'm sorry, Dean, I'm going—I'll be back before the week's over." She moved away and out of reach of his attempt to grab her arm, making it all the way to the door before she looked back at Sam. "Promise you two will take it easy while I'm gone—just because I'm not here for a few days doesn't mean you can go hog wild and pull some stitches or something."

"We'll be okay," Sam replied, and Dean shot him a dirty look for not protesting like Dean was.

Deja nodded, looking at them both for a few more seconds, hardly managing to look Dean in the eyes considering how upset he seemed at the moment, before she walked out.

 _Just until I take care of this…then I'll be back._

* * *

It was the middle of the night when she limped back into the motel four days later, dropping her duffel by the door with a soft grunt. She'd only taken one step towards the direction the couch was before the room was suddenly bathed in light and she cringed, shielding her eyes from the sudden assault.

"Deja…" she heard Sam breathe in relief before her eyes adjusted to the light, and she took in both Winchesters standing outside their rooms with guns that might have been trained on her a few seconds ago but were now lowered.

Well…at least all of her worrying of somebody jumping them while they were injured and not one hundred percent, and she was gone, had been needless.

In fact, now that the entire ordeal was over, she felt guilty that she'd ever doubted that they would be all right.

"Are you all right? You look like hell," Sam continued, setting his gun down and easily crossing the distance to her, hand on her arm. It was strange, having Sam be the one to check her over while Dean stayed back.

Had her leaving even for a few days bothered him that much?

"I'm just a little banged up and tired. It's been a long week, and the couch is looking very comfortable right now," she said wearily, pulling her hair out of its ponytail. "If you don't mind…I'd like a nice, hot shower before I start talking."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever you need," Sam said, stepping back as she grabbed a change of clothes and some soap out of her duffel. "We're glad you're back."

Dean was in her path on the way to the bathroom, and as she came even with him, giving him a slightly timid glance, Dean reached out to stop her, hand on her elbow as he glanced at the bruise she had on her jaw. "Are you _really_ all right?" he asked seriously, raising his eyes to search her gaze.

"Yes, Dean, I am. Like I said, I'm just a little banged up—nothing a little rest can't fix," she assured him, waiting until he'd let go to slip into the bathroom.

She started running the hot water in the shower, stripping down and looking at herself in the mirror.

She hadn't lied—she was a little banged up. Large bruises were scattered across her torso and back, a few on her arms and legs, a couple burns, and the occasional cut. It was nothing a little rest and maybe something to relieve the burns couldn't fix.

She lost track of time in the shower, letting the steady, steaming hot jets sooth her aching muscles. When she eventually got out, skin tender and red, dressed in her usual loose pants and long sleeve AC/DC shirt, damp hair pooling down her back, Dean was sitting on the couch staring at nothing in particular in front of him, an open beer in his hand and an unopened one resting against his thigh. He looked up when she left the room, holding out the beer to her.

"Figured you'd want one," he said as she took the beer and a seat beside him.

"Thanks," she murmured, opening the bottle easily. "Did Sam go back to bed?"

"Yeah, he decided to let you rest," Dean replied, taking a drink from his beer.

"And you decided to bombard me fresh out of the shower?" Deja asked with a light chuckle, fighting back a yawn.

Dean smiled—just slightly—and gave a soft laugh. "Well, when you put it that way…"

"Nah, you're fine. I'd like the company before I doze off. No offense ahead of time in case I fall asleep on you.

"None taken." Silence settled between them again, the pair simply sipping on their beers side by side on the couch. When Deja only had about a fourth of her beer left, Dean spoke again. "So…what important thing did you have to take care of?"

"Just some witches stirring up trouble."

Dean was quiet for a moment. "So you left for a routine hunt?"

"No, not a routine hunt." Deja paused to yawn, tipping back the rest of her beer and setting the bottle somewhere away from the couch before she settled down again. "It's a long ass story that I am…way too tired to explain. Not exactly a story I feel like trying to explain, either. It's done, it's over with…and I'm exhausted."

Dean's arm draped around her shoulders. "I'm patient. And curious."

"But _I_ am _tired_ ," she complained, shifting wiggle away from his arm and lay down on the couch, using his leg as a pillow as she curled up on her side. His hand followed her, resting on her arm. "Really, Dean…you can let it go—I just took care of some witches, and I'm back now…I'm glad I'm back."

Again, Dean was quiet, his hand starting to gently rub up and down her arm, occasionally running through her damp hair. Usually, Deja would consider this drifting into dangerous waters, but she was too tired to make some sort of witty comment to get him to stop. Besides, it felt good, especially with her current battered state.

"I'm glad you're back, too," Dean said eventually, still continuing his soothing motions.

Deja hummed deep in her chest, closing her eyes as sleep called to her. "Careful with me…like I said…banged up…"

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you—I'm always careful," Dean replied quietly. "I'm guessing you've got a few bruises?"

Deja nodded slightly, too tired to verbally communicate anymore. Dean chuckled softly.

"Go ahead and get some sleep. I won't keep you up any longer," he relented.

Deja was out what felt like moments after he'd said that.

* * *

Deja never told the Winchesters what happened that made her have to leave at the drop of a hat and had her returning with a collection of bruises, though neither of them ever got to see how extensive that collection of minor injuries was. They still managed to ease back into their usual routine, and the days started to bleed by far faster than Deja wanted them too. Soon the Winchesters were moving around on their own, so she started sleeping in her hotel room and dropping by to join them for lunch and dinner, or whenever it got too lonely being in her room by herself. Really, the separation felt like they were easing back into their routine when they were on the road hunting, since soon the Winchesters would be well enough to get back into the swing of the job. They were already making their own grocery runs and occasionally went to the nearest bar.

At the moment, she sat in her bedroom pouring over one of her three books—the gold-dusted one, since she felt like being productive tonight. She was so immersed in her reading, that when someone knocked on her hotel door, she jumped a good inch off the bed, heart pounding in her chest before Sam's voice echoed through the door.

"Deja, you in there?" Sam called.

Deja slipped off her bed, shoving her book back into its usual spot under her hunter's journal and black magic book before making her way to the door. Sam was on the other side in the same kind of t-shirt and sweats he usually wore to bed, already giving her an apologetic look before she even finished opening the door. The gashes on his cheek had already healed without a scar, just like she'd promised—as had the ones on Dean's forehead—and the only evidence he'd been attacked by the daevas was hidden under clothing.

"Sam—what's up?" she asked, frowning slightly.

"Can I sleep in your spare bedroom tonight?" he asked sheepishly, leaning against the doorframe. Deja narrowed her gaze at him.

"Why? Did you and Dean get into a fight or something?"

Sam snorted. "Ah, no, though I guess it's possible, so I'll give you that one. Dean's got…company," Sam finished, giving her a look that told her he expected her to know _exactly_ what he meant.

She did.

"Oh," she said simply, suddenly feeling rather awkward herself. "Um…in that case, yeah, you can stay, come on in."

Deja stepped aside so Sam could come in, the younger Winchester hovering awkwardly for a moment before she eased onto the couch and gave him an expectant look, waiting for him to join her. "I take it Dean's feeling better if he's already picking up girls again," she commented as Sam took a seat beside her. He sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah…I wasn't expecting it, honestly," Sam said with a frown.

"Why not? It's Dean," Deja said pointedly. Sam looked at her, then cast his gaze elsewhere.

"No reason…" he said evasively, before clearing his response up with another answer entirely. "I guess I thought he'd at least wait until we were on the road again."

"I don't think Dean can go that long without some action," Deja sighed, grabbing the remote and then playfully slapping Sam's knee. "Come on, let's wind down with some TV, then we can head to bed."

Sam chuckled. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

Early the next morning, Sam woke up sick as a dog, sick enough he woke Deja up as well.

The bad part was, all the medicine was in Sam and Dean's motel room since _they_ were the ones still recovering for the most part.

Which meant Deja had to run over there while Dean possibly still had some random chick over, and get some medicine so Sam would feel better.

 _Fate hates me, doesn't it?_

Deciding to just suck it up and deal with it, Deja grabbed Sam's key to the Winchester's room, quietly slipping through the front door and doing her best not to make too much noise as she looked for the medicine she needed for Sam. The sooner she found it, the sooner she could leave and hopefully _not_ run into Dean and the girl of the night.

Now, had she left the ibuprofen in the kitchen or the bathroom? She had the stuff for his upset stomach and sore throat…

"Who the hell are _you_?"

Deja closed her eyes, bowing her head and heaving a soft sigh as she heard the accusing female voice coming from the direction of Dean's room. Of course, she'd still run into the chick…

Deja turned, giving the woman a polite smile. "Don't mind me—his brother's sick next door, I just came to get what he needs to feel better," Deja told her.

Shoulder length black hair, well-endowed in the upper region, brown eyes, rather curvy, a little shorter than Deja…the observations came naturally to her, and she had to force herself not to go much farther with those assessments as soon as she started comparing the woman to her.

"Well…don't get too comfy," the woman sniffed, looking at Deja like she was the cockroach that just scurried out of her favorite pair of shoes. Deja's eyebrows rose.

She had the sneaking suspicion this chick hadn't talked like that around Dean.

 _Not another damn bitch in disguise. These boys…_

"Maybe I should be the one saying that to you, Your Worshipfulness," Deja returned, voice a little colder. "You don't own this place, and you don't know me, so don't go giving me orders."

"I don't like another woman lurking like some panting bitch when I've already taken the prize."

 _She did_ not.

Deja turned, folding her arms over her chest. "You are way too confident—let me knock you down a few pegs. I'm the friend that will be traveling with him and his brother once we leave town. You're a one night fling whose name he'll probably forget soon. Are we clear on the pecking order, here?"

"So you're the one who's not even good enough for one night of casual sex?"

Deja stared her down for a moment, lips twitching towards a humorless smile for a second before disappearing entirely. "Yeah, it's time for you to leave."

The woman shrugged turning for the door. "Whatever—he has my number. It's too needy and desperate around here right now, anyway."

Deja eyed the woman closely as she started to head for the door—she was far too ready to leave, and for someone who just rolled out of bed after a night with Dean, she was far too, well, _dressed_ , too prepared to leave before Dean woke up. She was a bitch, that was clear, and something about her screamed sleazy snake—besides the snide comments towards Deja.

"Uh-uh, not yet," Deja said before the woman could make it out the door, gaze intense and accusing.

"I thought you wanted me gone?" the woman asked in a sarcastic tone, eyes cold as she turned just enough to look at Deja.

"Not before you had it over," Deja said flatly, holding out a hand expectantly. The woman stared at her for a second, then let out a short laugh, like Deja had just made some sort of ridiculous joke. When Deja didn't even flinch at her condescending laugh, the false humor died from her eyes, and she made her way back towards Deja, sneering as she pulled out a wad of cash and…

Damn, the keys to Baby. This woman didn't know it, but Deja catching her in the act was saving her _life_. "You're not making off with anything of his— _especially_ his car," Deja said as she yanked the keys and cash out of the woman's hands, putting them on the counter next to the medicine for Sam. " _Now_ you can leave."

"Bitch," the woman retorted condescendingly, popping her B.

"Whore," Deja said effortlessly and instantly. She gasped dramatically, placing her hand daintily over her heart. "Oh, look! It fits you just _perfectly_!"

"You're just oozing jealousy—can't stand the fact he slept with me and not you?"

The woman spoke as if she was talking to a child, head tilted to the side as she pouted mockingly at Deja. Deja gave her a cold smile.

"I tell him no when he asks. Just so you know you're just one of the closest pieces of ass available to him when he couldn't get what he wanted. It's not my fault you're easy."

Okay, not entirely true and painted in a way that might have pissed off Dean a little if he were awake and overheard, but Deja phrased it that way to jab back, tired of the woman's crap and wanting to get her out the door already. She regretted how that came out, but she wasn't going to back down, either.

The woman's smile became viper-like, a wicked, winning gleam in her gaze. "Are you saying he's just a washed-up loser who can't score anything better than a whore, slut, or hooker?" she asked as if scandalized. Deja took a step closer, getting right in the woman's face as her eyes flashed dangerously.

"I don't do one night stands—me saying no to him has _nothing_ to do with whether or not he's good enough for me. I'm saying he's a _good man_ who _deserves_ better and _does_ far better than you on a regular basis, and you need to get out, _now_. I'll consider my turn in taking out the trash fulfilled. Try not to steal anything else on the way out the door."

The woman's lips pursed, expression furious, but it seemed she decided she'd lost this round, as she turned and stormed out the door without another word, slamming the door behind her.

Damn, she was going to wake up Dean…

Whatever, at least she's gone now, Deja thought, turning back to her slowly growing pile—the medicine for Sam's stomach and for his sore throat, and now the keys to Baby and a wad of cash.

She still needed the damn Ibuprofen.

As she picked up the keys, planning to quietly slip into Dean's room while he slept and set them on the nightstand, Deja noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Looking up, she was shocked to see Dean standing there in just a pair of loose pants, hair mused but looking like he'd been awake for a while, and gazing at her with an unreadable expression as he leaned against the doorframe of his room.

"Well…I wasn't expecting to wake up to that," he said evenly. Deja blinked, then blushed—mostly from embarrassment, but also from shame for the one statement that had slipped out in a way she hadn't meant for it to.

"How much of that did you hear?" Deja asked, keys still in hand.

"I was awake around the time you called her a whore. You two were being a _little_ loud."

Deja sighed, hanging her head. "Dean, I'm sorry—" she started to say, but he cut her off.

"No, don't apologize—everything you said was true, and after overhearing all that, I'm glad you chased her off," Dean said, walking over to stand beside her, leaning against the counter casually, body facing her.

Deja shook her head. "Not _all_ of it was true. I said something in the head of the moment that didn't paint you _or_ me in a good light—it just didn't come out the way I meant it to…"

Dean waved his hand dismissively between them. "Seriously, Deja, it's fine. I know what you were _trying_ to say, especially because of your follow-up comment." He gave her a sincere smile, but instead of bringing up that she'd said he was a good man and all that, he switched tracks, plucking the keys from her grasp. "She really tried to take Baby? Bitch…I regret ever saying _hi_ to her, now."

"You're allowed your moments of bad decisions," Deja said with a shrug. Dean nodded towards her little collection of medicine as he pocketed his wad of cash as well.

"I'm guessing you came over for that?"

Deja nodded. "Yeah, Sam woke up sick."

Dean glanced at the medicine again, apparently taking stock of what his brother was sick with. "Need anything else?"

"Yes, the Ibuprofen—I was looking for that when I was interrupted."

"It's in the bathroom," Dean told her, pushing away from the counter and making his way to retrieve the last item on her list. "I'll get dressed and run into town for some soup."

"Ginger ale, too—my mom always gave me ginger ale when my stomach was being rebellious. It really helps," Deja said as he pressed the Ibuprofen into her hand.

"Got it—after that disgusting miracle paste worked its magic, I think I'm going to listen to your home remedies more. Could you write up what you used to make it, just in case?"

Deja chuckled. "How about I just keep you well stocked with it, instead?"

Dean considered, looking like he was going to argue for her recipe before he simply shrugged. "Whatever—so long as we have it for the future."

"I'll put _make the Winchesters their own batch of scar miracle paste_ on my to do list, then."

"Great. I'll see you after my run into town—I know how sick Sam can be, and I promise not to leave you alone to that," Dean chuckled before ducking into his bedroom.

"I'll be waiting."

* * *

With Sam sick and Dean and Deja sharing the responsibility of taking care of him, they briefly fell back into the sleeping arrangements of earlier in their recovery period, except now it was in Deja's room, and Dean was the one sleeping on the couch. He didn't mind, with Sam sick in Deja's spare room and Deja sleeping in her own room, he could handle sleeping on the couch for a while.

However, he woke up in the middle of the night for reasons unknown, the room awash in complete darkness except for the occasional flash of lightning outside as it appeared to be raining tonight. He remained prostrate on the couch, believing he'd simply be woken by a crack of thunder outside.

Until he heard the front door creak open, the storm outside momentarily louder.

Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows just enough so he could lift his head to see the doorway, managing to catch the sight of a familiar silhouette with long hair slip outside before she shut the door behind her.

"What the hell…" Dean muttered groggily, running a hand down his face before reaching out to check his phone for the time.

It was the middle of the night. What was Deja doing slipping out into the rain in the _middle of the night_?

Grunting softly, Dean rolled off the couch, shrugging on a shirt before he followed Deja outside, expecting to see her trying to slip away to God knows where.

Instead, he stopped short right outside the door.

Deja wasn't sneaking away, she wasn't hiding out in her car, she wasn't trying to find a vending machine for a late-night snack, even. She was simply…standing there, a few paces in front of Dean, in the middle of the parking lot, right under the rain. Her head was tilted up to the sky, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, looking completely at ease, shoulders relaxed, her arms around her middle, and apparently completely oblivious to the world around her.

Dean simply watched her, the rain slowly turning her platinum blonde hair darker, trailing down her forehead, cheeks, jaw, and throat, an occasional, slight flinch occurring when a raindrop landed, say, on her eyelids.

He didn't want to shatter the image before him, but he was curious, and his practical side came into play as well.

"Deja?" he asked from where he stood still dry under shelter of the hotel. She jumped slightly, turning enough to look at him, turquoise eyes seeming luminescent with the combination of the rain, occasional lightning strikes, and the dim street lamps in the parking lot. "What are you doing out here? Trying to give me two patients instead of one?" he asked, trying for a humorous edge. Deja smile at him.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I just…I want to be out here. I like the rain—it relaxes me. I'll be inside before I get sick, I promise. I just want to enjoy this, first," Deja explained, turning her head back up to the sky and closing her eyes once more.

Dean debated heading back inside and leaving her to her strange habit, but something possessed him to stay, hand on the doorknob for the hotel room, gaze trained on her.

Deja Floy standing out in the rain was definitely a different… _new_ kind of beauty. And the longer he watched her, the more he wanted to know what she found so fascinating about the rain—what about it was keeping her so enraptured?

Eventually, Dean stepped out from under the shelter of the hotel, the downpour quickly starting to drench his clothes and dampen his hair as he gradually made his way towards where Deja stood unmoving. He craned his head up, the rain seeming to fall from nothing instead of the sky with how dark it was, the occasional lightning flash giving the rapidly falling droplets a strobe-like effect.

When Dean reached Deja's side, he was thoroughly soaked, but didn't seem to care, looking down at the woman simply enjoying one of the little things in life right now. As far as he was aware, she was oblivious to the fact that he'd joined her in the rain.

Now that he was close enough, the rain running over him like an oversized, colder shower, he heard her humming to herself, and he could see she was swaying slightly, not completely still as he'd first suspected.

And after a few moments of listening, he was able to pinpoint the song. That song only added weight to the moment, the kind of weight that made Dean wonder just where he and Deja stood regarding each other these days.

Weight that had him looking closer, moving to stand in front of her as the rain streamed down her face.

Because now…now he could see the occasional tear slipping from her eyes as well.

 _Crying in the Rain._

The next time a tear escaped, trying to blend in with the rain, Dean reached up and carefully brushed the warm droplet away, Deja's eyes flying open again at the sudden stark contrast of his warm skin from the cold rain she'd grown accustomed to.

She gazed at him, waiting for him to ask why she was crying, to ask if she was all right.

But he knew better.

And he didn't need to know, really.

He was starting to accept that Deja kept secrets because they were too painful for her to share.

Wordlessly, Dean slipped his arm around her middle, the hand that had wiped the tear away moving down to cusp the back of her neck as he pulled her against him into a comforting hug, resting his chin atop her head. She didn't fight the gesture—in fact, she pulled her arms up to curl into his chest and be trapped between his warmth and her own, ear resting flush against his chest to hear his heartbeat.

Standing in the rain, in the middle of the night, water slowly soaking through to the bone, Dean gently swaying her in place as she curled into his embrace—that was all they needed.


	15. Chapter 14: Something Wicked (Ep) Part 1

God help her, the boys were at odds once again.

And things had been going so well, too—it was the middle of July, everyone was healed and healthy again, they were on the road once more, and the boys had even got into a competitive prank war during the last case they'd had that had ended in a truce after they both pranked the reality ghost show wannabies.

Those two airheads were a pain in their side during the entire case.

Everything had been smooth, their routine coming back as easily as water over river rocks…and then John had texted them with coordinates for a new case.

It was like he'd relit the fires of contention with that single, simple text, and Sam and Dean were at odds once again about the same old thing.

Sam didn't like following John's orders while John was M.I.A. and Dean was determined to carry out those same orders to a T.

Which left Deja as the awkward in between, able to see both sides but feeling like they were both being unfair to each other and not taking each other's points of view into consideration.

They just couldn't learn, could they?

Thankfully, she had her own vehicle, so she didn't have to worry about the awkward road trip and at least that part of the arguments. Even now, she could see Sam and Dean arguing animatedly in the car in front of her, and she subconsciously turned her own stereo up in her car, as if they were in the Corvette with her instead of in their own car ahead of her.

Hopefully there wouldn't be any fallout she had to deal with whenever they finally arrived in town. She was okay with being a mediator between them on occasion, but constantly being a mediator for the _same issue_? Nope, she did not sign up for _that_.

If they didn't take her advice and learn from previous incidents, that was their fault, _not_ hers.

Sighing, Deja rested one arm on her rolled down window, relaxing in the seat and simply singing along to the modern music playing through her stereo right now. She always listened to modern on the road trips because then she didn't have to worry about judgmental comments from Dean. If it wasn't classical, that man didn't seem to want to hear it.

Or at least he wouldn't admit to liking any of it—it would damage his reputation too much.

 _Crazy Winchesters…_

* * *

"Another day, another case, right?"

Sam hummed in acknowledgement as Deja leaned against the Impala beside him, the two of them looking at the ghost-town park in front of them. Dean was inside grabbing everyone coffee and chatting up some of the locals to see if anything noticeably strange was going on. Deja rolled her shoulder, getting a satisfying popping noise from the action.

"I will say, it's nice to be back on the road. The break was nice but I think we were all getting a little stir crazy being in one place too long."

Sam snorted softly. "We've been on the road again for some time now, Deja."

"Meh, technicalities. Right now, I'm just impressed you two didn't kill each other in the car."

Sam gave her an odd look. "What are you talking about?"

"I could see you two fighting from where I was driving behind you—couldn't hear over my stereo, the wind, and your stereo, but I could definitely see it."

"We weren't fighting," Sam said with a roll of his eyes, looking away again. "That was just…a slight disagreement."

"Dear God, if that was slight disagreement, I _never_ want to see you two get into a real fight!"

Sam didn't answer, gaze trained on the park that now had at least one kid playing on it, brows furrowed in thought. She let him stew for a moment, dropping the topic. Glancing behind her, she straightened, thwacking Sam lightly on the arm. "Older brother, seven o'clock."

"What, you two doing something you're not supposed to?" Dean asked with a smirk as he reached them, handing them each a coffee. He didn't wait for a witty response to come to her. "The waitress thinks that the local freemasons are up to something sneaky, but, uh…other than that, nobody's heard of anything weird going on."

"Dean, you got the time?" Sam asked, still gazing at the park.

Dean gave him an odd look, pulling back his favorite leather jacket's sleeve to glance at his watch. "Ten after four. Why?"

Now Deja frowned as well, looking at the ghost town of a park she and Sam had been half-heartedly watching while Dean was inside.

"What's wrong with this picture?" Sam asked, nodding towards said park.

"School's out, isn't it?" Dean asked after a few moments studying the vacant playground.

"Almost for an hour by now, I'd wager," Deja replied, an uneasy feeling settling in her gut.

"So where is everybody?" Sam asked, though the question was obviously rhetorical, since none of them had the answer—they were the ones asking. "This place should be crawling with kids right now."

"Well, someone should figure out what's going on," Deja said casually, giving the two Winchesters a pointed look. Dean turned around, making his way towards the lone mother who sat on a bench while her daughter played. He got halfway there when Deja suddenly rushed up to him, threading her arm through his. Dean stuttered in his walk, giving her an incredulous look.

"Just act like a new couple, and people will think you're less…creepy for lingering around a children's playground when you don't have any kids," Deja said casually, letting him figure out where she was going with that as she leaned slightly against him, nudging him slightly to get him going again.

"Thanks, I guess," he replied in a low voice before they reached the mother, Dean being the one to easily break the ice as Deja watched the girl playing on the monkey bars—she looked understandably lonely and only half-hearted in her playtime. "It sure is quiet out here."

"Yeah, it's a shame," the mom said, drawing Deja's attention back to her.

"Why is it so quiet? I'd've thought there'd be kids swarming this place after school," Deja added, stepping a little closer to Dean for both show and warmth. It was a little nippy out, but not enough to keep kids from wanting to play.

"Kids keep getting sick—it's a terrible thing."

"How many?" Dean asked, glancing at the lone girl now sitting on the monkey bars, not climbing them anymore.

"Just five or six, but serious—hospital serious."

"That's awful," Deja said softly.

The mom nodded. "A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it's catching."

Dean hummed in response, still watching the girl as she climbed down the monkey bars, a somber, pensive look on his face. Deja decided to take the reigns, since he seemed to be in his own little world at the moment.

"Sorry for bothering you—we should get going," Deja said with a friendly smile, tugging gently on Dean's arm.

"It's no problem," the mom reassured her before Dean and Deja had turned away, headed back to where Sam was watching them cautiously by the car.

"All right Sam…you caught something. To the hospital we go," Deja announced, unwinding her arm from Dean's as she pulled away.

And now she was cold…

* * *

"Dude…Dude! I am _not_ using this I.D.!" Sam said furiously as they walked into the local hospital, all three of them dressed in nice suits. Dean gave Sam an odd look, still leading their small group of three.

"Why not?"

"Because it says _bikini inspector_ on it!" Sam whispered angrily. Deja's head whipped around to face Dean.

"Oh my _God_ , Dean, _why_?"

Dean only laughed, his signature devil-may-care grin in place. "Don't worry, she won't look that close, all right? Hell, she won't even ask to see it. It's all about confidence, Sammy," Dean told him, reaching over and in one fluid motion turning Sam around and shoving him in the direction of the front desk, bringing him face to face with the nurse there. Deja rolled her eyes as she stayed even with Dean, coming to a stop when he did.

"You can be so cruel sometimes…" she muttered.

"Shut up, I'm amazing," Dean murmured back as Sam started to talk to the nurse, managing to keep his nerves out of his voice but not his expression.

"Uh…hi, I'm Dr. Jerry Kaplan, Center for Disease Control."

"Can I see some I.D.?" the nurse asked.

Dean snorted, turning away to hide his laughter when Sam glared at him as Deja lightly hit him on the arm.

"You're a jackass!" she hissed, though she couldn't help but laugh a little, too, and he heard it, looking at her with green eyes sparkling with his amusement. She just shook her head, fighting her smile and refusing to give in.

Not that she was having much success in that department.

"Yeah, of course," Sam said over by the service desk, forcing his smile and fishing out the offending fake I.D. to very briefly flash it to the nurse. "Now, could you direct me to the pediatrics' ward, please?"

"Okay, just go down that hall, turn left, up the stairs."

"Right. Thank you."

As soon as Sam was facing Dean and Deja, Dean with a grin that said he had no regrets, Sam was glaring at them.

"See, told you it'd work!" Dean said cheerfully.

Sam's glare only intensified, but he _didn't_ get into any kind of spat with Dean, refusing to feed his brother's amusement. "Follow me, it's upstairs," he nearly growled, taking the lead while Dean chuckled.

 _These two are going to be the death of me_.

* * *

"Well, thanks for seeing us, Dr. Hydeker."

Despite the laughing fest that had taken place downstairs, everyone had their game faces on as they made their way through the pediatrics ward with the head doctor leading the way. Then again, seeing a bunch of children—not even the ones they were investigating, just children in general—in the hospital was a sobering thing.

Deja was rather positive that the entire experience would only get more sobering as the case unfolded. When children were the victims, the case was always weight filled, somber, depressing, even.

"Oh, I'm glad you guys are here. I was just about to call the CDC myself. How did you find out, anyway?" Hydeker asked, checking his pager when it beeped shrilly at him. Dean easily tackled that question, the lie coming out as easily as breathing.

"Oh, some G.P.—I forget his name. He called Atlanta and must have beat you to the punch."

"So you say you've got six cases so far?" Sam asked as they came even with the large room the sick children were being kept in, six beds within with six sleeping, sickly children inside. Deja stood in front of the glass, looking in with a frown, heart panging at the sight.

"Yeah, yeah, in five weeks. At first we thought it was garden variety bacterial pneumonia, not that newsworthy, but now…" the doctor said, trailing off.

"Now, what?" Sam asked.

"The kids aren't responding to antibiotics. Their white cell count keeps going down. Their immune systems just aren't doing their job. It's like their bodies are wearing out."

"Excuse me, Dr. Hydeker," a nurse said, interrupting as she handed the head doctor a clipboard with a decent stack of documents on it.

"You ever see anything like this before?" Sam asked.

"Never this severe," the doctor said with a shake of his head, looking down at the documents. The nurse pitched in this time.

"The way it spreads. That's a new one for me."

Deja looked at the nurse from where she stood in front of the kids' room, coming to stand even with Dean.

"What do you mean?" Again, it was Sam who asked the question.

"It works its way through families, but only children, one sibling after another," the nurse informed them.

 _That's too precise, too systematically routine to be a disease,_ Deja thought with a frown, glancing back into the room.

"You mind if we interview a few of the kids?" This time it was Dean asking the question.

"They're not conscious," the nurse said solemnly.

"None of them?" Sam asked incredulously.

"No."

"Can we, uh, can we talk to the parents?" Dean asked instead.

Dr. Hydeker shrugged. "If you think it'll help."

"Yeah, yeah. Who was your most recent admission?"

* * *

"I should get back to my girls."

Deja sat beside the clearly distraught father they were interviewing while Sam and Dean stood in front, gazes sympathetic but determined. With kids dropping like flies, they _had_ to find out what was going on.

"I know the last thing you want to do right now is answer more questions, some repetitive, but we need to know everything we can so we can help all of the kids get better, your daughters included," Deja said gently, holding the man's gaze. When the man gave a slight nod, Sam spoke next.

"We really appreciate you talking to us. Now, you say Mary's the oldest?"

"Thirteen," the man told them.

"Okay, and she came down with it first, right? And then…"

"Bethany the next night."

"Within 24 hours?"

"I guess."

Seeing the man's discomfort, Dean cut in. "Just a few more questions, if you don't mind. Um…how do you think they caught pneumonia? Were they out in the cold, anything like that?"

"No, we think it was an open window."

"Both times?"

"The first time, I don't-I don't…I don't really remember, but the second time, for sure, and, uh…I know I closed it before I put Bethany to bed."

"So you think she opened it?" Sam asked curiously.

"It's a second story window, no ledge. No one else could have."

 _No one else normal._

Sam nodded, and Deja studied their contemplative faces before she turned to the man with a gentle smile. "That's all for now, thank you for your time. Go be with your family, now."

Deja watched him go, rising from her seat to make her way out of the pediatrics ward with Sam and Dean. They waited until they were in a hall with no one around to hear them to start talking.

"You know, this might not be anything supernatural. It might just be pneumonia," Sam suggested, apparently sticking to his guns that they shouldn't be running wherever their father wanted to go.

At least Deja suspected that was an ulterior motive with him, because all she had to say to that was one thing. "Bullshit."

"What, you're picking up on something?" Dean asked, brows furrowed in concern as he glanced back at her.

"No, but this is all too unexplained for it not to be—we just don't know what we're looking for, yet. You don't get a disease paying attention to age and relation systematically and effecting no one else like this," she said pointedly. Dean nodded.

"Maybe something opened that window," Dean added before looking over at Sam. "Look, man, Dad sent us down here for a reason. I think we might be barking up the right tree."

"I'll tell you one thing," Sam said leadingly as they all stopped in front of the stairwell. Dean turned to face his brother.

"What?"

"That guy we just talked to? I'm betting it'll be a while before he goes home."

* * *

They'd all made their way to the house of the last family to be attacked in the Impala to stand out a little less, breaking into the home with well-practiced ease. Now, while Dean scanned for EMF and Sam used a black light to look for any kind of leftover residue, Deja checked in every hiding place that came to her for hex bags, just in case it was a witch they were dealing with.

 _Dean's checking for ghosts, I'm checking for witches, and Sam's checking for monsters…at this rate we should sign up for Scooby-Doo, or something like that…_

"You got anything over there?" Sam asked while Deja was half hidden under the bed, feeling along it's frame.

"No, nothing," Dean replied.

"Yeah, me neither," Sam muttered

"Nothing without trashing the place to be thorough," Deja added, her voice slightly echoing in the confined space to her but probably coming out muffled for the boys. She prodded the underside of the mattress a few times and ran her hand along the frame one more time before relenting, pushing herself out from under the bed.

"Dean, Deja."

Deja propped herself up on her elbows where she lay on the ground, raising one hand to try and smooth her now wild hair.

 _Damn carpet, damn comforter…_

"Yeah?" Dean asked, coming around the bed and snorting softly when he saw Deja's current state. She glared at him, but didn't interrupt as she was waiting for Sam's answer as well.

"You two were right…it's not pneumonia."

Dean helped Deja get to her feet, the two of them making their way to where Sam stood by the window the father had said was open the night before.

Why none of them had thought to check there, first, she didn't know.

Squeezing sideways between Sam and Dean—why did they have to be so tall, namely Sam, since Dean was about the perfect height taller than her to where she could look him comfortably in the eyes and it was easy for him to rest his chin on her head like it was at the perfect fit with her five foot nine height—Deja peered at the black markings on the windowsill that the younger Winchester had found.

Black, rotted markings that looked like a knotted, long fingered hand.

"It's rotted. What the hell leaves a handprint like that?" Sam muttered.

"I don't know, but nothing good," Deja added quietly. Dean didn't immediately respond, and Deja frowned, looking over at the older Winchester. Dean was braced against the windowsill, staring at the handprint with fixated eyes like—for lack of a better phrase—he'd seen a ghost, jaw clenched. She reached out a tender hand, touching his shoulder cautiously. "Dean?"

Dean shied away from the touch, drawing back from the window. "I know why Dad sent us here. He's faced this thing before," Dean said, his voice quieter than normal though he was clearly trying to keep his usual casual attitude. He was shaken, and neither she nor Sam—by the look on his face—knew why. Dean only met his brother's gaze for a few seconds. Hell, he didn't even look at Deja before he looked back at the handprint, rapidly retreating behind his walls. "He wants us to finish the job."

* * *

Dean didn't talk about what had rattled him on the way to the motel that night—his entire posture had said _don't mention it, and don't touch me_ for the longest time, at least the entire time that Deja was around him. When they parked in front of their motel of choice on this case and got out of their cars, he seemed more at ease and less likely to growl if Deja even accidentally touched him.

No, he hadn't growled at her, though he _had_ been very closed off and sulky, and had shied away several times.

"So what the hell is a shtriga?" Sam asked as he and Dean got out of the Impala.

"A _what_?" Deja asked, completely bemused by the strange term. This was the problem with traveling in separate cars—she tended to miss important conversations.

"A _shrtiga_ —it's kind of like a witch, I think. I don't know much about them."

"Well I've never heard of it, and it's not in Dad's journal," Sam said, his tone coming off a little annoyed. Deja kept any attitude out of her voice, already knowing Dean was off and not wanting to add to whatever he was dealing with right now.

"I haven't heard of it, either, so I'm going to say it's _not_ a witch and more of a monster."

Dean looked up at that, giving Deja an odd look. "Really? Little Miss Witch Expert hasn't heard of a type of witch? You know, it's quite possible you _don't_ know everything."

 _Damn it, I still hit a nerve…_

"I'm not saying I know everything, Dean, I'm just saying witch might not be the right word for it. That's not the point right now, anyway—how do you know about it?"

 _The old topic change for a save. Probably won't be able to pull that one again, though._

"Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about sixteen, seventeen years ago." Dean glanced at Sam as he started rifling through their stuff in the trunk. "You were there—you don't remember?"

"No," Sam replied.

"I guess he caught wind that the thing's in Fitchburg and kicked us the coordinates."

"So, wait, this…"

"Shtriga," Dean filled in for him.

"Right, you think it's the same one Dad hunted before?"

"Yeah, maybe," Dean answered, a deep frown etched into his expression as he shut the trunk of the car.

"But if Dad went after it, why is it still breathing air?"

 _Mighty high opinion of his hunting skills you have there, Sam._

"Because it got away," Dean said simply.

"Got away?" Sam asked, following Dean towards the motel's lobby while Deja went the other way around the car. Just so she didn't give Dean the same following puppy feeling.

"Yeah, Sammy, it happens."

"Not very often."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, man, maybe Dad didn't have his Wheaties that morning," Dean said with a playful smile.

Deja narrowed her eyes.

 _You're hiding something_.

Dean didn't have his full sarcastic abilities tuned into that comment—it was a little off, slightly…defensive.

Something happened on that case. Something that's bothering him. Frankly, it was clear something was bothering him the moment he saw the shtriga's handprint. The question was, what was getting under Dean's skin?

"What else do you remember?" Sam asked as Dean and Deja reached the door to go pay for their rooms.

"Nothing, I was a kid, all right?" Dean replied, opening the door and slipping inside before Sam could continue questioning him.

 _And that's my cue not to question him myself. Don't dig, cause not even Sam has digging rights at the moment…got it. If it comes out, it comes out, and until then, I'll just give him a sense of normal. Sam might pry enough for the both of us._

Dean rang the bell to the front desk, Deja leaning against the counter beside him and resisting the urge to study his face for a clue as to what she and Sam were missing about this case.

A blond boy that came up to about Dean's chest approached the counter with a long-suffering sigh, folding his arms on top of the surface and giving them a bored stare.

"King or two queens?" he asked, the question coming easily. Deja's eyebrows rose, and she quickly moved to correct his assumption.

"I'm buying separate—one king," she said hastily.

Dean instinctively glanced back outside where Sam could be seen leaning against the Impala. "Two queens."

The kid leaned over just enough to see Sam outside, snorting softly under his breath. "Yeah, I bet," he muttered.

"What'd you say?" Dean asked, easy smile disappearing while Deja bit down on her lip to try and keep her smile at bay.

"Nice car!" the kid covered easily, giving Dean a well-practiced smile.

"Hi," a new, feminine voice said as the door opened, a petite brunette stepping through with a grocery bag in her arms.

"Hi," Dean replied on instinct, both he and Deja turning towards the newcomer.

"Checking in?" the woman asked.

"Yeah."

 _Ah, the parent. Dean must feel like this is a victory…_

The woman set the bag in her arms down, looking at the blond boy behind the counter. "Uh—do me a favor, go get your brother some dinner."

"I'm helping some guests," he responded innocently. The mom gave him _the_ look, and the kid sighed in defeat. Dean gave the kid a smug, half-smile as the kid turned away, though not before getting in one last jab. "A king, and two _queens,_ " he told his mom, putting emphasis on the _queens_ as he stared Dean down before disappearing into the back room.

"Funny kid," Dean said, the statement tinged with sarcasm.

"Oh, yeah, he thinks so. Will that be cash or credit?" the mother said, already filling out the form.

"Do you take MasterCard?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Perfect. There you go," Dean said, sliding a card over with the name Kris Warren.

Now she knew what alias he was using here…

As the woman started to fill out both of their rooms on the form, Deja stopped her.

"I'm getting separate—one king. As close to his as possible, if you can. Me, him, and his brother are traveling together," she explained, her own card in hand as the woman pulled out a second form, handing the first to Dean to sign before working on Deja's. She handed Deja's form over before running Dean's card, the process only taking a few moments. Deja glanced at Dean, noticing that he still hadn't signed the form, pen held loosely in hand as he gazed at the two boys in the back room with a faraway look on his face.

The mother came back with his card, and when Dean didn't immediately take it Deja gave her a slight smile, taking the card instead and discreetly placing it on the form before sliding her own form and card over. Hands now free while the woman got Deja set up, she placed a gentle hand on Dean's upper arm.

"Hey…" she said softly, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Mm…right, sorry," he murmured, looking down to see the card and pocketing it before he signed the form and pushed it over to the woman behind the counter. "Thanks."

Once they had their keys and were done signing in, Deja stopped Dean by the door, the mother disappearing into the back room. "Hey, let's go pick up dinner for the night—I saw this place down the road that looked like it was good."

"We're about to do the research crackdown," Dean replied, looking a little surprised. Sam was watching them from the other side of the glass, unable to hear what they were saying.

Deja gave a little shrug. "Meh…it's Sam's turn to wade through the lore."

"Sam did it last time."

"He can do it again, it won't kill him. Come on, Dean, I just want to grab some food down the street, damn it, just say yes."

Dean leaned back, eyebrow quirking up in question as a small smirk played across his face. "Are you…asking me out on a date?"

" _Hell_ no," Deja said with a laugh, running her fingers through her hair. "I'm just asking you to come pick up some food with me, is that so much to ask, jackass? It gets you out of some researching time…"

Dean shook his head, opening the door. "Fine, whatever," he laughed.

* * *

After picking up some burgers to go at the restaurant Deja had spotted and something more health-conscious for Sam, Dean and Deja were making their way on foot back to the hotel. Dean had the to-go sack with their food in one hand, an arm wrapped around Deja's shoulders as they walked, holding her close to keep her warm in the chilly night air. They'd been talking for the whole trip—nothing too soul-searching, just casual conversation—though he _had_ managed to get her to open up a little bit more about her early life, which was what she was talking about right now.

"I was actually pretty young when I first handled a gun—I don't know when, exactly, but we had guns in the house and when I was mature enough my parents set up a target and taught me how to handle and shoot all the kinds of guns we had in the house. My first shot with a .45 was actually a bullseye."

"You're bluffing," Dean scoffed.

"Cross my heart—of course, the second shot was near the edge of the target, so I'm willing to say it was beginners luck…though it didn't take me long to become a decent shot, I will give myself that."

"What was the gun you were best with?"

"A 22, actually, then the handgun—I would make rocks at the end of our little shooting range jump around because the targets and jugs and cans were too easy. And I could get those shots off _fast_ , let me tell you," Deja chuckled.

"Nice to know even some of the _normal_ kids were handling guns at an early age, and it wasn't just me."

"Well…I never said our family was normal."

"That's not true—first time we met you said you'd had a taste of the apple pie life."

"Doesn't mean we lived it. A family can have apple pie moments but still be weird as hell and far from normal."

"All right, I'll give you that one," Dean laughed, Deja's laughter mixing in with his own before they settled down and he instinctively tightened his grip on her shoulder, pulling her a little closer and enjoying how _comfortable_ the action was between them. It was clear tonight, and they'd probably be able to see stars if they weren't in town. He was too busy looking at her, anyway, to try looking at the stars—they were far less interesting. "Are you sure this isn't a date? Cause it really feels like one."

Deja snorted softly. "Yes, I'm sure—we're just grabbing something to eat."

"…that sounds like a date."

"Well, it's not, so you better not count it as one," she said, jabbing a playfully warning finger towards his face. Dean rolled his eyes, feeling a twinge of exasperation as his gaze settled on her once more.

"Can't I win _anything_ with you?"

"Hmm…you've won my respect—when you deserve it, sometimes you act like a complete child," she said with a laugh, bumping playfully into his side. She stayed serious enough he knew she meant what she said, but she seemed to be making a conscious effort to keep this conversation in a safe area, their usual teasing-with-no-meaning, flirting with the edge area. "But I like that about you—your humor is much appreciated. My presence in general—I could have left numerous times but I stayed. I'd like to think there's a friendship between you, me, and Sam…"

"What about affection?" Dean asked suddenly, slipping his arm out from around her shoulder and stepping directly in front of her, hand pressing gently and briefly against her other shoulder to stop her. They only stood a few inches apart, Dean gazing at her intently. He'd been wondering for months— _months_ —where they stood, trying to understand the mixed signals of _I care for you_ and then flirtatious but meaningless advances where she seemed to lean towards the line (which he was nearly standing flush against) but never took a step closer. "You know I've been vying for your affections since day one…I'd like to think I'm getting somewhere."

Deja looked down at his statement so that her eyes couldn't betray her and reveal any emotions that could give him a glimpse of the truth, heaving a soft sigh. "Dean…"

"God—never mind," Dean suddenly snapped, turning away and resuming the walk on his own as he quickly pushed back rising hurt, frustration, and even anger.

He should have known better than to even try.

Deja followed him after a moment's hesitation, sounding genuinely bemused when she called out to him. "What? I didn't even say anything!"

"You didn't have to," Dean threw over his shoulder, still walking. "You got that _letting you down easy_ , tone—I know, I use it a lot myself."

He heard her footsteps stop following him. "That's exactly the problem, Dean."

Dean halted, foot stumbling slightly right before it connected with the sidewalk. He didn't know how to react to that, but it didn't sound like something he was going to like. So, he let some of his aggravation leak into his tone as he turned around to face her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Now there was hurt in Deja's eyes—over what she was about to say or his sudden anger towards her, he wasn't sure—though that hurt was quickly giving way to irritation. "It means, when it comes to women they're more like a drink of the day with you—one and done, move on, and I don't—"

"Don't do one night stands, yeah, I've heard," Dean interrupted bitterly, turning away from her as the memory of Deja ripping into the girl he'd spent the night with flashed through his mind.

"Then what's the problem?" Deja snapped, her desperate frustration to know what she'd done wrong clear in her tone—she even stamped her foot. "You ask me to join the Just One Night club when I don't party there, and I say no—it's kind of an expected outcome—"

Dean's patience snapped and he cut her off, speaking loudly over her. "Well what if that's not what I'm asking for?"

Dean stared at her as she leaned back in shock, eyes widening as that sentence settled between them. He'd just crossed the unspoken line and put _meaning_ into their once teasing game. But it was more serious than a game now for him, and as nervous as putting himself out there made him, even if he hadn't exactly bared his soul—yet—he wasn't a coward, and he wasn't going to retract the statement. Instead, he expanded on it, pushing for a little more to make _sure_ she knew what he was talking about.

"What if…what if I don't like the thought of just _one_ night, either?"

Deja seemed to be struggling for words. "Dean…I…I don't—"

She was trying to hold onto their game, resisting taking the step—had he crossed too soon? Hell, that would be just like him, screwing everything up when it starts to actually _mean_ something to him. This was why he didn't _do_ these sorts of things.

He quickly cut her off, wanting to confirm _something_ , and hopefully walk away without being completely shut down. "You can't tell me that with _everything_ , there wasn't _once_ where _something_ meant…meant _more_. That you haven't felt anything even _one time_."

Deja still wouldn't meet his gaze, looking at the street where the occasional car passed instead of at him. Dean's jaw clenched at her continued refusal to even _look_ at him while he tried to get an _answer_ , as he put himself out there when he usually kept no ties and cut everyone loose. Why was _he_ the one scrambling for a foothold?

"Do you even care about me?" he asked, the frustrated question slipping unbidden past his lips. Deja's head whipped around, gaze snapping to his.

"Of course I do!" she said sharply, her entire person accusing him for thinking she didn't before she melted back to exasperation. "Why else would I still be here? Dean, I don't—I don't get _involved_!" she finally snapped.

At some point Dean had stepped closer, it seemed, as she was stepping _back_ , putting distance between them again. He hated that. They weren't going to be able to sit comfortably side by side for a while if this conversation continued on its downward spiral, were they?

"Whether I have feelings or not doesn't matter, because even if I did, I don't get involved with people anymore, Dean. It was a miracle I'd even given you and your brother a way to contact me when we met, not to mention I actually showed up again and asked to tag along. In my experience, I'm better off by myself."

"Bullshit—" Dean started to accuse, stepping closer again before she held up a finger to stop him, eyes flashing in warning as she stepped back.

" _No_ ," she said firmly. "I am _trying_ to prove to myself that I'm wrong—that I don't have to spend my life alone going crazy till my past is dead or I go mad, or I die hopefully after or while fighting the people who killed my family. It's already scary enough getting close to you— _and_ Sam. I'm not ready to be involved, I don't _want_ to be involved right now."

"Why?" Dean asked sharply, resisting the urge to try and close the distance again as, despite her firm stance on the _no_ , she almost looked ready to run away like a startled wild animal—at least that's what her body language was telling him. She looked braced to _flee_. "Why are you so scared of _people_ , then, Deja, at least let me understand _why_. Cause I've spent long enough trying to figure out what's going on, and I'm tired of being confused by the mixed signals."

Deja looked like she was trying to restrain the words within herself, resisting telling him as she held his unwavering gaze—he wondered if she could see the storm of emotions he was trying to keep repressed enough for him to still have a civil conversation without his emotions spilling all over the ground in front of them—he didn't want to be _that_ bare in front of her.

The words still made it through her control.

"Because everyone I get close to leaves."

"You mean dies," he said bluntly, kicking himself inwardly for how harsh that seemed to come off. Her walls seemed to slam into place as she tried to carry out damage control, but it wasn't working.

"More or less. Either they die, or they get close enough to see things I don't let people see normally, and they run the opposite way. _Everyone_. _Leaves_."

"And you believe that I'm going to do the same," Dean ground out. Deja remained rooted in place, biting the inside of her cheek. Her silence was telling. "You know, maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do," Dean snapped, the anger starting to be the dominating feeling he was wrestling with inside.

"I don't know if you will," Deja forced out before Dean could turn away. "I don't know how you'll react to those…that part of me, and I'm not ready to let anyone see that, not even you. And if we took this any further than what we do now, I'd feel…obligated to tell you, and I would feel guilty if I _didn't_ tell you, and I'm not ready to take that leap. So…I'm trying to let myself connect with people again…but I don't-I can't get that involved. Not yet, not now."

"And you think this is easy for me?" Dean pointed out. Before she could answer, he decided to cut his loses now before too much damage was done. "You know what…just forget about it. I've got my answer now. Just forget all of it and we can go back to the meaningless flirts that never go anywhere, like this never happened."

Deja nodded, wiping away a tear before it could make it all the way down her cheek. "Then that's what we'll do."

Dean nodded as well, turning away and running a hand down his face before continuing back towards the motel.

He wondered if she would actually be able to forget, because he didn't think he really could.


	16. Chapter 15: Something Wicked (Ep) Part 2

A motel room wasn't complete until it was scattered with books and papers for research and perhaps a few weapons lying about. In Dean's opinion it wasn't, anyway, so now that there was research everywhere that all three of them were elbow deep in, the motel room felt complete.

There was still ice between him and Deja, he could feel it even now despite the fact he wasn't looking in the direction where she sat in one of the room's chairs. Once they'd reached the hotel they'd both put on their charade, falling into their usual teasing patterns. Their gazes occasionally lingered at the end of a playful jab or flirt, though, their eyes revealing the caution that was actually behind every word.

He doubted things were going to be the same between them, but at least they were going to try.

As Dean poured himself another cup of coffee, ignoring how late into the night it was getting, Sam finally spoke from the bed he had pegged as his own.

"Well, you were right. It wasn't very easy to find, but you were right," Sam announced for everyone to hear, absentmindedly scratching at his head. "A shtriga is a kind of witch. They're Albanian, but legends about them date back to ancient Rome. They feed off of spiritus vitae…."

"Spiri-what?" Dean asked, staring at his younger brother with confusion knitting his brows.

"It means breath of life, it's Latin," Deja cut in from her seat across from Sam, eyes still glued to whatever she was looking through. When both of the brothers stared at her, she looked up. "What? I'm a hunter who specializes in demons and witches, guys, I'm _kind of_ fluent in Latin. Nice to know what nasty spell a witch is throwing your way and nice to be able to tweak an exorcism that doesn't seem to be quite enough…"

"Yeah, um…breath of life—basically life force or essence," Sam added, tearing his gaze from Deja to meet Dean's before Dean turned his attention to the papers stretched out in front of him, jotting down a few notes.

"Didn't the doctor say the kids' bodies were wearing out?" he asked.

"It's a thought. You know, she takes your vitality, maybe your immunity goes to hell, pneumonia takes hold. Anyway, shrtigas can feed off anyone, but they prefer…"

"Children," Dean said solemnly, cutting Sam off before he could finish. Sick bastards. Witches…completely rotten, the whole lot of them—no exceptions. The world would be better off without them.

"Yeah. Probably because they have stronger life force. And get this—shtrigas are invulnerable to all weapons devised by God and man."

Dean was already shaking his head, moving over to the duffel of weapons they'd brought in and put on his bed. "No, that's not right. She's vulnerable when she feeds."

"What?" Sam asked. He could feel Sam's and Deja's gazes on him, but he pretended not to notice.

"If you catch her when she's eating, you can blast her with consecrated wrought iron, uh…buckshots or rounds, I think," Dean explained, fishing out a journal and making his way back to his perch at the island looking into the bedroom/living room area.

"How do you know that?"

"Dad told me, I remember," he said evasively.

 _And I'm sure as hell not going to say anything more._

"Oh. So, uh…anything else Dad might have mentioned?" Sam asked, voice sounding…well, tense was one way to put it.

"No, that's it," He said vaguely, glancing up just in time to catch Deja giving Sam a look along the lines of _lay off_ , though he only caught a glimpse of the tail-end before she looked away. "What?"

"Nothing…" Sam muttered with a shake of his head, rising to his feet to join Dean in the kitchen. "Okay, so assuming we can kill it when it eats, we've still got to find the thing, first. Which ain't gonna be a cakewalk. Shtrigas take a human disguise when they're not hunting."

"I guess we're moving the party in there," Dean heard Deja mutter as she moved from her perch and made a beeline for the kitchen table. Dean ignored her and focused on Sam.

"What kind of human disguise?"

"Historically, something innocuous. It could be anything, but it's usually a feeble old woman. Which may be how the whole witches-as-old-crones legend got started."

Dean was already speaking before Sam could even finish going off on a tangent, moving to the table to pick up the map he'd placed there before it could get buried by Deja's stuff. "Hang on…"

"What?" Sam asked, Deja setting her stuff down and moving to join them as Dean brought the map over to Sam at the kitchen counter.

"Check this out." Dean flattened the map so everyone could see it, directing their attention to three red dots in the same area. "I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now, these are the houses that have been hit so far, and dead center—"

"The hospital."

"The hospital," Dean confirmed. "When we were there, I saw a patient, an old woman."

Sam was silent for a moment. "An old person, huh?"

"Yeah."

"In a hospital? Woo, better call the coast guard," Sam laughed, already turning back to his coffee.

"Sam…" Deja chided him.

"Well, listen, _smartass_ , she had an inverted cross hanging on her wall," Dean shot back. The smug look slowly faded away from Sam's face and he turned back to Dean, expression now serious.

 _Yeah, that's what I thought._

Dean turned to face Deja, slightly surprised to find her hovering just off to his side. Pushing away any thoughts brought up by her proximity with the reminder of their…discussion not too long ago, Dean stayed focused on business.

"Did you happen to…pick up on anything while we were there?"

"No, I didn't, not that it would do much good—it's not a witch radar. I can feel dark magic in use if it's potent enough, I can't feel if someone possesses the ability to _use_ magic. Even then, it probably wouldn't be of much use since what we're hunting isn't a witch."

Dean stared at her, wondering if she'd misspoken. "We already established a shtriga is a type of witch."

"And you already established that the lore is flawed, since they _can_ be killed by something made of man, even if it's only at a certain time." Deja shook her head. "No, it's not a witch, I'd say it's a type of monster that people reference to a witch because of that old crone appearance Sam said they have."

"Wow…you really don't like not knowing about a type of witch, do you?"

Deja scoffed. "It's _not_ a _witch_. A witch can use magic, which the only mention of anything that shtriga's do someone not used to the supernatural would consider as magic that I can see is their life draining for sustenance trick. That's more like a monster's ability to me than a witch's spell. From what I can see, shtrigas don't use magic, and on top of that, witches are human, just like me…you…Sam…they can be anyone because most of the time they start out completely normal, they don't wear a human disguise. That disguise thing sounds more like a shapeshifter than a witch, considering it talks about _pretending_ to be human to blend into society. So, to finish my point, I'd say a shtriga is a type of monster that people referenced with a witch."

 _She almost sounds offended._

 _It's really not our day, is it?_

"You really don't like being wrong, do you?" Dean asked in reply.

Deja scowled, taking her seat at the kitchen table and choosing not to pursue the topic any further. "As for the old woman, I don't know, the cross isn't much of solid proof—maybe it's our shtriga in disguise, maybe it's just some crazy satanic old lady…which wouldn't be less disturbing, but at least not our problem."

Dean would have made a playful comment about her bad mood if he didn't know why her temper was so foul at the moment.

He wished he'd never agreed to go grab dinner with her—this case had been personal and hard enough before then, and this sudden distance…only made it worse.

* * *

"I was sleeping with my peepers open!"

Sam was still howling with laughter at the major disappointment Dean's suspicion had been about the old woman, even now that they were back at the motel. He even had to lean against the Impala for support, Dean glaring at him from the other side while Deja simply smiled.

"I almost smoked that old gal, I swear. It's not funny."

He had, because he'd been so sure she was their shtriga he went in with gun ready, while Deja had sort of waltzed in, pretty sure the old woman wasn't the shtriga they were after.

Thankfully the old woman's eyesight had been relatively poor, and they'd been able to pass themselves off as maintenance.

On top of that, Dean's inverted cross had turned out to be a regular crucifix the staff were terrible about fixing.

 _Point for me_.

"Well, maybe after you finished jumping out of your skin and crashing right into her nightstand. I think you nearly _fainted_ ," Deja teased.

And it was sincere teasing.

"That is _so_ not true!" Dean protested, waving the car keys in her direction as Sam only laughed harder. His scowl deepened as they reached the Winchester's motel room.

"Aw, man…you should have seen your face, Dean!" Sam wheezed, laughing hard enough he was having some trouble opening their door.

"Oh yeah, well, laugh it up, now we're back to square one," Dean muttered, casting his gaze around the motel. It was laid out more like a housing complex, with a bunch of little houses that had three motel rooms a house. Dean stilled as his gaze landed on something, and Deja followed his eyes to see the smart-mouthed kid from the night before sitting on a park bench, looking rather despondent. "Hang on…"

Deja followed after him, curious herself as to why the boy seemed so upset. Sam trailed after her, his laughter having quickly sobered at the sight of the boy on the bench.

Dean leaned down enough to look the boy in the eyes, tone softening substantially. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, fully crouching beside the boy.

"My brother's sick."

 _Oh no…_

"The little guy?" Dean asked.

The boy nodded. "Pneumonia."

 _It was here_. _While we were gone, it was_ here _._

Dean's expression seemed to mirror what Deja was thinking as realization hit him, and the boy continued talking. "He's in the hospital. It's my fault…"

"Awe, come on, how?" Dean asked, tone still just as gentle as before the shtriga realization.

"I should have made sure the window was latched," the boy lamented, sniffling. "He wouldn't have gotten pneumonia if the window was latched…"

Dean glanced back at Sam and Deja, something dark flickering in his gaze.

This was definitely the shtriga they were after. Deja gave him a little nod of agreement before Dean looked back at the boy. "Listen to me," Dean said firmly. "I can promise you that this is _not_ your fault. Okay?"

The boy looked Dean dead in the eyes, expression serious despite the red eyes. "It's _my job_ to look after him."

Deja quietly sucked in a sharp breath the same time Dean's shoulders tensed, his entire posture shifting with that one sentence.

Now where had she heard that before?

 _And ever since then I've felt responsible for him. You know, like it's-it's my_ job _to keep him_ safe _._

Dean held the boy's gaze, nodding with the most serious and pure look of understanding on his face, it hurt.

This case…this was _personal_ for him.

The door opened as the boy's mother left the main lobby, a bundle of stuff in her arms, a pillow, her purse, a stuffed animal, and a blanket being what Deja could see.

"Michael," she called, voice sounding borderline frantic and definitely stressed. Michael approached his mother as she shoved the stuff in the back seat. "I want you to turn on the no vacancy sign while I'm gone. I've got Denise covering room service, so don't bother with any of the rooms."

"I'm going with you," Michael answered.

"Not now, Michael."

"But I've got to see Asher!"

"Hey, Michael…" Dean said gently, their small group approaching the distraught family. "Hey, I know how you feel, okay, I'm a big brother, too. But you've got to go easy on your mom right now, okay?"

"Dammit!" Michael's mom shouted as she dropped her purse. Sam was already picking it up off the ground to hand back to her.

"Hey, I've got it," Sam assured her, handing it back. "Here."

"Thanks," Michael's mom told him, but she was till stressed and tense. Dean quickly stepped up to the plate without anyone even needing to voice the thought.

"Hey, listen, you're in no condition to drive. Why don't you let me give you a lift to the hospital, huh?" Dean asked.

"No, I couldn't possibly—"

"No, it's no trouble. I insist," Dean assured her.

Deja smiled slightly, heart warmed by the sight she was seeing.

 _He's a good man…far too good to get tangled up with the likes of me more than he already has._

Michael's mother handed over the keys, giving Dean a small nod. "Thanks." She turned and gave Michael a kiss on the head. "Be good," she told him before climbing in the passenger seat, Dean shutting the door behind her.

Dean looked at Michael for a split second before turning around and starting to walk towards the back of the vehicle while Michael walked around the front to go back into the lobby, giving the three hunters a brief moment of privacy. Dean paused and looked both Sam and Deja in the eyes. "We're going to kill this thing. I want it dead, you hear me," he said tersely before making his way to the driver's side of the car and leaving for the hospital.

* * *

With Dean at the hospital and Michael marked to be the next victim on the shtriga's hit list, Deja and Sam went to the local library to dig into any news articles about the attacks in previous decades, hopefully all the trail for the same shtriga. Deja sat in the chair beside Sam, absentmindedly playing with a rubber ball she'd swiped from the kids' play area while she read off the screen over Sam's shoulder, the silence that usually occupied the space between them only broken by the occasional click of a computer key or the mouse and the soft impact of the rubber ball she tossed between her hands and occasionally off random surfaces.

Sam and Deja were always quiet when doing research together, though that silence had expanded to their brief time in her car, despite the fact it had been the first time Sam had been in Rosanne with her instead of Dean. Still, no comment was made between them—though he had perused her music collection with less judgement than Dean had his first time—and that silence continued in the library except what was necessary to communicate with each other about the case.

Finally, as Sam was flipping over to another newspaper article on the screen in front of them, he spoke, and it wasn't about the case.

"So…you and Dean have been acting…distant since last night," he started conversationally, and Deja felt her stomach clench uncomfortably.

Last night. That wasn't something she wanted to think about right now, and she'd been doing decently well at pushing it to the back of her mind.

Not anymore, apparently.

"Did something happen between you two?" Sam asked, glancing at her discreetly from the corner of his eyes before returning his attention to the computer screen.

"We just had a…well, a fight of sorts," Deja murmured, keeping her gaze on the screen as well. "We agreed not to talk about it, though."

"Think it has something to do with what's been bothering him lately?"

Deja spared the younger Winchester a glance. "So, you noticed that too? What am I saying, of course you did, you're his brother," she said with a shake of her head, heaving a sigh. "No, it wasn't about what's bothering him. I'm pretty sure whatever is bothering him is about this case. What we fought about was…something else."

"You wanna talk about it?" Sam asked.

 _He's definitely more of a_ let's talk about it _guy than Dean…_

"No…like I said, we agreed not to talk about it and just continue on as we always have."

"Well, no offense, but you're not doing that good of a job continuing like normal. And whatever it is, leaving it alone like that…it's only going to crop back up again eventually," Sam told her. "Especially with Dean. He tends to—"

"Internalize things and pretend everything's all right, I know…I'm the same way," Deja muttered.

"Well then it's definitely going to pop up again, and probably under more explosive circumstances."

Deja grimaced. He had a point. But she didn't know what else to tell Dean. Him coming out as possibly wanting more than a one night stand had been…a shock.

But she couldn't give that to him. Not with… _everything_ on her end. The Winchesters had a complicated and dangerous life as it was, she didn't need to drag her own past and baggage, her own enemies, in with her. And from what she'd seen, and from her own experience, the Winchesters wouldn't be too friendly to her if they ever found out some of those secrets, _especially_ Dean.

And God, did that thought _hurt_.

So, she'd keep her distance, and her secrets, because if she let Dean any closer than he already was, she was afraid of what he'd find, and the fallout that would soon follow.

She wanted to stay with the Winchesters as long as she could before either they asked her to leave or it was getting too dangerous for her to stay with them—and that seemed to already be coming, after that close call while the boys were recovering.

There had been one thing Dean had been right about, though.

She had felt something, more than once, and that scared her. She couldn't afford to care _that_ much. It was already terrifying enough, knowing that she had friends, people she didn't want to see hurt, people that could be attacked to get to her.

And here she was…slowly being captivated despite her best efforts by that damn green-eyed, older Winchester with the knack for making her laugh and…and feel safe at times that, had she been alone, would have involved crying and the tequila bottle to make it all go away instead of…instead of a warm embrace and nothing asked of her, just quiet _understanding_.

 _Damn it, Deja…_ no _. For your sake and for his,_ no _. Do you want him to end up dead? Cause that's your running theme—you get close, they die because of you. Every time. And you know why. Not to mention…you'd be lying to him every day if he got close and you didn't tell him._

 _And if you told him…well, you remember how well that went with the last person you trusted with your life and told._

 _Not well._

"Hey, you still with me?"

"Hmm?" Deja asked, looking up at the sound of Sam's voice. He was looking at her expectantly, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, sorry, I was thinking…Did you find something?"

"Nothing good. I'm going to call Dean, check up on the kid, tell him what we've got so far," Sam said, and Deja noticed he had his phone in hand, ready to hit call.

"Right, go ahead," Deja said with a flourish of her hand, scooting closer so that Sam wouldn't have to put the phone on speaker and she could still hear what was being said on Dean's end if she was quiet enough. Sam nodded, hitting the call button and putting the phone between both their ears as they both leaned closer.

"Hey," she heard Dean's quiet voice say from the other end. Sam glanced at her, and once she nodded to show she could hear, he spoke, still scrolling through the articles on the computer in front of them.

"Hey. How's the kid?"

"He's not good. Where you at?"

"Deja and I decided to hit up the library, try and find out as much as we can about this shtriga."

There was a moment of silence, possibly Dean stepping outside or making sure he couldn't be heard. "Yeah, what do you got?"

"Well, bad news. I started with, uh, with Fort Douglas, around the time you said Dad was there…"

"And?"

 _Dean sounds like he's holding his breath, and not from excitement, more like dread and anticipation…_

"Same deal. And before that, there was, uh…there was Ogdenville, before that…North Haverbrook and Brockway…every fifteen to twenty years it hits a new town." Sam slowly shook his head, looking at the body count on the article he was currently paused on. The number made Deja sick.

Kids. _Kids_.

"Dean…this thing's just getting started in Fitchburg. In all these other places, it goes on for months, dozens of kids, before the shtriga finally moves on. Kids just…languish in comas, and then they die."

"How far back does this thing go?" Dean asked.

 _As heart wrenching as this is…he shouldn't sound like that._

He sounded hoarse, like he was forcing himself to get the words out. And was that… _guilt_ she heard in his voice?

"Uh…I don't know. Earliest mention I could find is this place called Black River Falls back in the 1890s. Talk about a horror show," Sam muttered, scrolling onto a picture that they had of the incident. Deja latched onto his arm.

"Wait, stop…" she ordered, leaning in closer. "Oh my God…"

"What…whoa…" Sam said softly, voice dropping as well.

"Sam? Was that Deja? What is it?" Dean's voice asked quietly from the phone.

"Hold on, I'm…we're looking at a photograph right now of a bunch of doctors standing around a kid's bed. One of the doctors…is Hydaker."

"And?" Dean asked, missing the piece of the puzzle that they were staring at.

The date.

"And this picture was taken in 1893."

Silence.

Then, "You sure?"

Oh, she did not like the sound of that. That was barely maintained calm, hardly restrained rage—she knew _exactly_ what that felt like.

Dean was at the hospital right now. Hydaker was no doubt probably in the room next to him, or somewhere else blisteringly close by.

"Yeah. Yeah, absolutely," Sam confirmed. Before Deja could tell Dean to not do anything stupid, before she could get a word out, the phone clicked.

She ran a hand down her face—great, now she was picking up habits from Dean—and tried to keep in her frustration. "Think he'll do something stupid?"

"No…no, he knows nothing he does can hurt that shtriga unless it's feeding," Sam said with a nod, though he didn't seem a _hundred_ percent sure. "He wants this thing dead—we all do—he's going to make sure when he goes to kill it, it _stays_ dead. He won't do anything yet."

Deja chewed on her bottom lip, thinking of how personal this case seemed to be for Dean and of his tone of voice before his ominous hang up. "I hope you're right…"

* * *

Deja was relieved when Dean showed up with no cops on his tail and his expression darkened with murderous intent.

Not usually something to be relieved about, but it meant he hadn't tried to shoot the doctor in public, so it was a state of being she could deal with.

Though even now…it might not have been the best. Emotions were running high in the room, they knew who the shtriga was, knew who was the next target, but didn't know how to kill it before anyone else got hurt. They were all stressed, strained, and emotional, and for unknown reasons, Dean more than everyone else.

Not to mention the personal drama going on, the elephant in the room that apparently everyone was well aware of but all of them were doing their damnedest to ignore and continue on like everything was fine.

 _Something_ was bound to happen. She didn't know what, but _something_ would happen before they left this room.

"We should have thought of this before," Sam fumed, currently pacing the room to work out his frustration over the newest discovery. "Doctor's the perfect disguise, you're trusted, you can control the whole thing."

"Huh…that son of a bitch," Dean growled, forcefully throwing his jacket into one of the chairs as Sam made a beeline for the kitchen and Dean headed for the bathroom, leaving Deja standing in the bedroom.

"I'm surprised you didn't draw on him right there," Sam called, and Deja shot him a look.

 _Excuse me? I'm the one who worried about that, and you were the one who was all like,_ Oh, don't worry, Dean's smart, he won't do that. _And now you're saying you thought he would too? Little liar…_

"Yeah, well…" Dean muttered, coming out with a towel pressed against the back of his neck before he tossed it back into the bathroom. "First of all, I'm not gonna open fire in a freakin' pediatrics ward."

"Good call," Sam muttered.

"Second, it wouldn't have done any good because the bastards bullet proof unless he's chowing down on something. And third, I wasn't packing, which is probably a really good thing, cause I probably would have just burned a clip in him off of principle alone," Dean growled, taking up the job of pacing in front of the beds that Sam had vacated to move into the kitchen. To get out of the way, Deja chose a bed and sat.

Based off the brief look Dean spared her, once again, she'd chosen his.

 _I should just find a way to make money off of this knack of mine…_

"You're getting wise in your old age, Dean," Sam mused, causing Deja to crack a smile.

"You're damn right," Dean muttered, gazing towards the curtain-covered window. "Cause now I know how we're gonna get it."

"What do you mean?"

"The shtriga, it works through siblings, right?" Dean asked.

"Right…" Sam said slowly. Deja could already see where Dean was going with this. The thought had crossed her mind a few times, but because the Winchesters seemed to be extremely moral people she kept it to herself and waited to see if one of them would bring it up.

"Well, last night…"

"It went after Asher."

"So I'm thinking tonight it's probably gonna come after Michael."

"Then we got to get him out of here," Sam said, straightening instantly. Deja felt a twinge of both pride and disappointment, until Dean spoke.

"No. No, that would blow the whole deal."

 _So we are thinking on the same page. Oh, Sam is not going to like this…_

"What?"

Sam's voice was almost a shout.

"Yeah."

"Then you want to use the kid as bait?" Deja could only see the back of Dean's head, but whatever his expression was apparently gave Sam the answer of _yes_. "Are you _nuts_? No. Forget it. That's out of the question!"

Deja would have backed up Dean's call, but Dean was cutting off Sam already, voice loud, shoulders tense. "Sam, it's the only way—if this thing disappears, it could be years before we get another chance!"

"Michael's a kid, and I'm not going to dangle him in front of that thing like a worm on a hook!"

Again, she would have stepped in, but Dean's louder and strained voice cut through the motel room. "Dad did not send me here to walk away!"

Deja felt like she was watching a volcano smoke before the inevitable eruption, and it was coming _fast_.

"Send _you_ here? He didn't _send you here_! He sent _us_ here."

"This isn't about you, Sam," Dean partially growled, partially _lamented_ , pushing away from the counter and turning from his brother, moving towards the window again. "All right, I'm the one who screwed up, it's _my_ fault! There's no telling how many kids have gotten hurt because of _me_."

Deja got a look at his face and she was on her feet, making her way to him. She was right behind him when he finished speaking, his voice breaking near the end.

There was the eruption.

There was what had been bothering him since he'd seen the shtriga's handprint.

He was on the verge of letting it out, and obviously he was in _pain_.

Deja came even with him, then turned to face him, left hand resting gently on his left shoulder. "Dean?" she asked quietly, only tightening her grip when he tried to pull away and shake her off.

No, this needed to come out, whatever it was. And whether there was ice and distance between them right now or not, she'd be damned if she wasn't still here for him.

 _Don't shut me out, not right now._

"What are you saying—" Sam started to ask, voice still raised and his frustration over how Dean had been acting lately leaking into his tone. This time, it was Deja who cut him off.

"Sam," she said in a voice that said _stop_ on its own, and Sam stopped, looking between her face and Dean's back as Deja turned back to Dean.

"Dean, what happened…when your dad was hunting the shtriga?" she asked, voice quiet, gentle, free of judgement. This man before her was beating himself up enough as it was, he didn't need anyone else yelling at him right now. He didn't need _any_ of the extra crap that was going on right now, and Deja was starting to feel even worse about the argument they'd had the previous night, seeing the rather vulnerable expression he was trying to cover up, turning his head away to keep it from her.

He still wasn't saying anything, body going still, shoulders tightening under Deja's grasp. "Dean," she said again, reaching out to carefully turn his head to face her. There was some resistance, and he still wouldn't look her in the eyes or look in Sam's direction. "Tell us. Please. We need to know."

"You've been hiding something from the get-go, we both knew it," Sam pitched in, voice calm and quiet now. "Since when does Dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away? Talk to us, man—tell us what's going on."

Dean sighed, closing his eyes and starting to move towards the bed. Deja stepped out of the way, letting her fingers brush against his chest before her hand came to rest on his other shoulder when he turned, and then following him to the edge of the bed and sitting down beside him, worry crinkling her brows closer together. Dean just stared at the ground, a haunted look in his eyes before Deja started to gently rub his back, hoping that she wasn't crossing some new line with the argument they'd had. His expression didn't change, but he didn't pull away, so she kept up with the soothing motions, hoping to provide enough comfort he'd eventually open up.

Finally, he spoke, voice even but quiet. "Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. It was, uh…the third night in this _crap_ room and I was climbing the walls, man, I needed to get some air. Dad told me to stay in the room with you, but, uh…there was an arcade game in the tavern attached to the motel lobby and you were asleep, so I locked the door and went to play a few rounds."

Deja listened to Dean speak, hardly even looking up when Sam quietly came into the room and sat down on the other side of Dean. The older Winchester didn't seem fazed by the action, but Deja could feel him react a little to her gentle back rub. It wasn't relaxing him as he was telling what was obviously a painful memory, but he seemed to lean into the motion, the comfort, and that gave Deja some relief—her efforts weren't being blocked.

"I, uh…I was there a little while, I played the game until the bartender told me they were closing up, and I went back to the room…and the light was on…the door to your room was almost closed, and I…I just knew something was wrong, that gut feeling. And when I opened the door, it was _right there_ , it was getting ready to…to feed." Dean looked down, swallowing and taking a second before he continued. "I grabbed the shotgun Dad left by the bedroom door and I was gonna shoot it, but it heard me, and…that's when Dad got there, told me to get out of the way and just emptied a clip in the thing."

Dean got quiet again, eyes red as he held back tears. She could feel his shuddering breaths under her hands as she continued to rub his back, letting him know she was still there— _they_ were still there. Deja had a feeling he was going to leave out what must have been a scathing chewing from their father before he continued, an audible shake in his voice. "Dad just grabbed us and booked, dropped us off at Pastor Jim's about three hours away. By the time he got back to Fort Douglas the shtriga had disappeared. It was…it was just gone. It never resurfaced until now. Dad never…spoke about it again. I didn't ask. But he, uh…he looked at me different, you know…which was worse. Not that I blame him. He gave me an order, and I didn't listen, and I almost got you killed."

"You were just a kid," Sam said softly, and Dean physically recoiled from his brother's attempt to excuse what had happened, which brought him a little closer to Deja. She stopped rubbing his back and let her hand simply rest there, lest he think she was going to try and excuse his actions or give him empty platitudes as well.

"Don't." Dean shook his head, then said it again. "Don't. Dad knew this was unfinished business for me. He sent me here to finish it."

Sam nodded, looking away. "But using Michael—I don't know, Dean. How about one of us hides under the covers, you know, we'll be the bait?"

Deja was already shaking her head no before he even finished.

It wouldn't work.

"No, that won't work. It's got to get close enough to feed. It'll see us. Believe me, I don't like it, but it's got to be the kid."

Dean stood up, moving away to stand by the window, no doubt taking a moment to himself, Deja's hand dropping to the bed.

"I'm with Dean. I mean…I've been thinking it for a while now, but I didn't say anything cause…I didn't know if you two would come up with another way or not," Deja said quietly, looking at Sam. "I know it's not ideal, no one ever likes putting a kid in danger, but…"

Deja sighed, reluctantly tipping her cards just a bit to give Sam a little more reassurance. "I've…I've had to use kids as bait before myself, and it sucks, and it's scary as hell," Deja said, hating the look Sam gave her, and she wondered if Dean had turned behind her to give her a similar one, but she knew that her situations had been much like this one—she had to do it if she was going to save other people from getting hurt. "But if you take precautions and play your cards right, if you do it _right_ , you can pull it off with no one getting hurt—or at least the kid not getting hurt. Look, my first instinct with a kid is to get them as far out of harm's way as possible, they become first priority as soon as they enter the arena—but in cases like this, it's the only way we're going to stop this thing, and who knows, maybe the kids who've already been attacked will get better. Like when you kill a witch sometimes their spells are reversed."

"You've done this before?" Dean asked from behind her, and Deja turned to look at him, both of their expressions serious.

"Yeah…but I'm not doing a thing unless Michael agrees. That's my other rule—the kid has got to agree to it, or we'll _have_ to find another way."

* * *

"You're crazy! Just…go away or I'm calling the cops!" Michael threatened after they'd stated their case to him in the motel's lobby, the boy brandishing the front desk's phone like a weapon.

"Hang on a second. Just listen to me," Dean said firmly, leaning against the desk and looking Michael right in the eyes. "You have to believe me, okay? This thing came through the window and it attacked your brother. I've seen it, I know what it looks like, cause it attacked my brother once, too."

Slowly, Michael put the phone back in its place, signaling he was willing to listen—though he still seemed a little reluctant. "This thing—is it, like…it has this long, black robe?"

"You saw it last night, didn't you?" Dean asked.

"I thought I was having a nightmare," Michael admitted. Deja had to swallow a sudden lump in her throat.

The poor kid…not trying to do anything to help his brother because he thought he was dreaming and it wasn't real, then waking up to find out it had all actually happened…

"I'd give anything not to tell you this, but sometimes nightmares are real."

"So…why _are_ you tell me?" Michael asked warily.

"Because we need your help."

" _My_ help?"

"We can kill it, the three of us, it's what we do. But we can't do it without you."

Realization dawned on him. "What? No!" Michael instantly protested.

"Michael, listen to me," Dean said steadily, his gaze intensifying. "This thing hurt Asher, and it's gonna keep hurting kids unless we stop it. Do you understand me?"

* * *

Long story short, Michael didn't agree.

"Well, that went crappy. Now what?" Dean asked, pacing worriedly in the room while Sam sat on his bed and Deja leaned on her side against the wall by the window.

"What did you expect? You can't ask an adult to do something like that, much less a kid."

"You'd be surprised," Deja muttered. "Children are a different kind of strong. They carry burdens and accomplish feats that would bring _adults_ to their knees…but it _was_ a lot to process and then ask of him all at once. Give him some time. If all else fails, we can keep an eye on that house and intervene if— _when_ —the shtriga comes after him."

"You still think Michael will agree to it?" Sam asked incredulously. Deja turned her head to face the Winchesters, expression solemn.

"Dean made the gravity of the situation pretty clear, and it's his _family_ that's been threatened—hurt. He might have his doubts…but yes, I think he will. He had this look in his eyes I've seen before…give him time," she said softly.

Right on cue, there was a knock on the door, and she smiled slightly when the Winchesters looked at her before Dean moved to answer the door.

There stood Michael, looking nervous but determined. "If you kill it, will Asher get better?"

Dean looked back at Deja and Sam, who stood silently in the background. Dean was the one who'd been connecting with Asher, and Deja wasn't about to sweep in and interfere in that.

"Honestly? We don't know," Dean said as he turned to face Asher again. "Deja thinks it might, but we can't be sure."

Michael looked down, seeming to swallow his fear as he asked another question. "You said you're a big brother?"

"Yeah."

"You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?"

"Yeah, I would," Dean said softly, and behind him Deja gently clapped Sam on the back, feeling the emotions in the room swell for a few seconds.

"Me too," Michael said with a nod. "I'll help."

They had work to do.

* * *

They were all set up, night-vision camera in Michael's room feeding into another room where Sam, Dean, and Deja sat waiting for the shtriga to appear, Michael sitting nervously in bed. They were simply watching time tick away and keeping an eye on the window to Michael's room, waiting for the inevitable now.

Dean was wide awake and tense, though now they all knew why—aside from the obvious with using Michael as bait.

"What time is it?" Dean asked.

"Three," Sam replied softly. He was keeping track of the audio in the room while Dean and Deja looked at just the video feed. "You sure these iron rounds are gonna work?" Sam asked.

"Now's definitely not the time to start second guessing things, Sam, it's only gonna make it worse," Deja said softly.

"I know, it's just…" Sam sighed.

"I know."

There were a few heartbeats of silence before Dean answered Sam's question anyway. "They're consecrated iron rounds…and yeah, it's what Dad used last time."

Then, out of nowhere: "Hey Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean and Deja both looked at Sam, though Deja tried to make it look less obvious and suddenly became very focused on blending into the background.

"For what?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed. "You know…I've really given you a lot of crap…for always following Dad's orders…but I know why you do it."

 _Glory, halle-_ freaking _-lujah. Now hopefully it sticks, damn it_ , Deja thought.

Dean on the other hand…

"Oh, God. Kill me now," Dean muttered. Deja smiled to herself. He could complain all he wanted, but she was secretly rather sure he at least appreciated Sam's apology.

Suddenly, Dean tensed, leaning forward. "Wait, look."

All three of them turned their immediate attention to the screen in front of them, gazes riveted to the window where a gnarled hand was slowly opening the window. All three of them carefully picked up their guns, making sure they were fully loaded with consecrated iron rounds.

"Now?" Sam asked as the shtriga climbed into Michael's room.

It had to _start_ feeding, and they couldn't barge in a moment sooner.

"Not yet," Dean hissed back.

It reached Michael's bed and started to lean down.

"Now," Dean confirmed, already up and moving with Deja and Sam hot on his heels. Dean kicked in the door, gun already at the ready and Deja and Sam flanking him.

"Hey!" Sam shouted, and Deja cursed in her head.

"Michael, Down!" Dean barked, and he opened fire once the boy was clear, as did Sam.

Deja didn't fire.

They screwed up.

It had to be _feeding_ , not standing there, staring them in the eyes, mouth closed.

The rounds were useless.

"Damn it…" Deja growled, and as soon as the brothers stopped firing after the shtriga fell backwards into the corner between Michael's bed and the wall, Sam looked at her.

"What the hell, Deja?"

"Michael, you all right?" Dean asked the boy who was now hiding under his bed.

"Yeah," came the muffled reply. Deja was focused on Sam.

" _While_ feeding, Sam, not _after interrupting_ its feeding," Deja snapped.

Dean looked at her, concern flashing through his eyes as well as hope that _maybe_ it had still worked.

It hadn't, she was _sure_ it hadn't.

"All right, just sit tight," Dean told Michael as he and Sam started to circle around, guns still trained on the shtriga.

 _Screw that!_

Deja dropped down next to the bed, holding out a hand to Michael, which the boy promptly grabbed so she could pull him out from under the bed. Deja pushed him towards the door, keeping him covered with herself.

"It's not dead, so head downstairs, wait outside until one of us comes and gets you. If…if the shtriga comes out after you, you run, okay?" Deja said softly, lightly shoving the boy out into the hall. He nodded, and Deja shut the door firmly behind him the same instant that the shtriga suddenly jumped to life and grabbed Dean.

"Dean!" Deja and Sam both shouted as Dean was thrown into the wall, going down in a pile of shattered wood.

No weapon _made_ by God or man could kill it now that it wasn't feeding.

The shtriga did the same to Sam, who at least landed on the bed after colliding with the wall.

But what if—

The shtriga whipped around despite the fact it had been leaning towards Sam like it was about to feed, and Deja could feel its full gaze on her as she tossed the gun aside—it wasn't going to do her any good—in the direction Dean had been thrown, her other hand clenching into a fist. The shtriga was in front of her before she could form another thought, all of its attention suddenly on her as it pinned her to the ground by the throat and gathered her hands in its other long-fingered grip, pinning her hands above her head. Deja did her best to resist the urge to gasp uselessly for air, getting her knee up to try and push it off of her.

All she could see was the bottom half of that shriveled up face and that black robe.

Wait.

Maybe…maybe one of the boys could get to a gun—if Dean was still conscious, and Sam didn't get too trigger happy...

If that was the case, then as much as her heart was pounding in her chest…

 _All right, you son of a bitch…you want me, have me…I dare you._

The thing opened its mouth, a bluish light emanating from within as it pried her mouth open and kept it there, and—

God, it hurt! It hurt! And that's all she knew, was that it hurt, she couldn't even make sense of direction or sound, she only knew that she was in pain and she couldn't breathe—

And then there was a gunshot—she didn't hear anything that came after it, just the gunshot—and the pain ended so suddenly she felt like she'd just been launched at light speed back into reality, sucking in air as the shtriga was sent flying backwards with a bullet wound between the eyes. In the next moment, as she was still reorienting herself, Dean was leaning over her, his gun-free hand running over her jaw, behind her ear, and threading through her hair as he checked her over with quick green eyes.

"Deja, are you all right?" he asked, raw concern in his gaze. He had blood slowly trailing down towards his temple, but other than that he seemed fine. Deja nodded avidly, still catching her breath.

"Yeah, I'm…I'm fine—was counting on one of you getting a gun," she said with a short laugh.

Dean hung his head in relief, a small smile flickering across his face before he looked back up at Sam, who was getting up himself. "You all right, little brother?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Sam assured him. Dean finally looked over at the shtriga, which was lying motionless on the ground behind Deja.

Slowly he got up, approaching the monster on the ground that was slowly starting to wither away before he shot it three more times—probably both for good measure, and for some therapeutic release. Deja rolled onto her side before she pushed herself up to her feet, Sam leaning down to help her.

"It was going to try to make a meal out of me…so why did it suddenly charge you?" he asked, Dean turning to look at her with a question in his eyes that mirrored Sam's spoken one. She shook her head, furrowing her brow for effect and staring with a confused and slightly disturbed expression down at the shtriga that was now only a pile of ash and old black rags on the floor.

"I have no idea."

She did.

But there was no way in _hell_ she was going to tell them.

* * *

The next morning, as they were packing, getting ready to leave, Deja went in to Sam and Dean's room to talk to Dean. Before going inside, she told Sam she needed some time to talk to Dean, and Sam had gotten the gist, saying he'd find something to occupy himself with until they were done.

Michael had been shaken the night before, but he was fine, eventually calming down enough to sleep, and Sam, Dean, and Deja had gotten a few hours of sleep and only had a few cuts and bruises to show for the night before, the most obvious being a small cut Dean had near his hairline. Deja herself was a little shaken, but she would be fine.

Right now…well, she wanted to take Sam's advice this time and talk to Dean before what had happened between them had enough time to fester into something bigger.

Deja knocked gently on the doorframe as she stepped through, seeing Dean already wearing that leather jacket he seemed to love so much and almost packed and ready to go. He looked up at her knock, his expression morphing from thoughtful to guarded as soon as he saw the look on her face.

"Hey…can we, um…can we talk?" Deja asked, nervously scratching at her ear before hooking the thumb of that hand through one of her front jean loops.

"Depends…what do you want to talk about?" Dean asked warily, shoving a shirt into the duffel bag on his bed without really looking.

Deja sighed, gathering her courage as she shut the door behind her. "Something I think needs to be brought up before it gets the chance to be an issue."

Dean studied her for a moment, then turned away to grab something on the kitchen counter, his back to her. "I thought we agreed to just forget about it."

"Yeah, well…I couldn't. And I don't think you could, either," Deja said flippantly. Dean made some sort of scoffing noise that seemed mixed with a snort.

"It's hardly been a day, give it time," he muttered, coming back into the room to shove a few books in his hands into the duffle.

"I'm trying to get ahead of future problems, here," Deja replied, watching as he continued packing, not looking at her, and he didn't reply. Her jaw clenched, and as he grabbed the zipper to his duffel bag, she walked forward and grabbed his hand, forcing him to look at her. "And I want to give you a better answer—a clearer one—than I did."

"Oh, I think you were pretty clear," Dean said with a tight smile. Deja didn't return it. She kept her gaze serious, looking him right in the eyes.

"You're a good man, Dean. You really are," she started to say, though Dean only laughed humorlessly, turning away.

"Not good enough for you, apparently."

"No…" Deja said slowly, boldly grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around so he could see the truth in her eyes. "Too good for me."

Dean's eyes furrowed in disbelief, and Deja believed she had enough of his attention he wasn't going to try and walk away from her now. "The whole…it's not you, it's me thing, as cliché as it is, actually applies here. I just…" Deja sighed, backing up to sit on the bed beside his duffle and leaving a big enough space on her left that he could sit next to her. "Let me say what I have to say. You don't even have to talk, just…let me get this out. I need you to at least hear this before you get any more wrong ideas about…"

Unable to find one word to describe their current situation, Deja simply waved a hand in the air to describe whatever _this_ was. Dean seemed to understand what she was saying, at least, and he wavered between declining and accepting before he carefully sat on the bed beside her, waiting in anticipation for her to start talking. She wasn't sure if she could look him in the eyes for all of this, but she tried, meeting his guarded green eyes with her own tentative turquoise gaze.

"First of all, and what I think is the most important…I don't want you to think that I don't care…because I do. And that scares me, for more reasons than I can say. And I need you to understand that…I've been alone for _years_ , and I have walls that went up so that I could _survive_ alone in my nightmarish corner of the world, walls that aren't going to come down so easily or anytime soon. And I have…secrets that I can't share because keeping them secret _protects_ people. And the way I've lived since I was thirteen has been built off the motto of 'everyone is safer if I am alone, if I don't get close to _anyone_.' So getting close to you…goes against something that has been a core part of me for over a decade, and that doesn't go away easily, that doesn't get forgotten. But I still _care_ , and I continue to care, and I keep…getting closer to you—and Sam, but in a different way—and that _scares_ me."

Deja took a deep breath, and was surprised when his hand covered her own, fingers gently threading through hers and encouraging her to continue. She stared down at their intertwining hands, giving his hand a firm squeeze.

"I need you to understand…" she continued, voice soft but fiercely sincere. "That you have done _nothing…wrong_. My reason for refusing to go any further with… _this_ rests solely on me, and it is _not_ because of you, and it never will be. It's my issues that I need to work through, my past that's holding me back, it's _me_ that's the problem. And I really am sorry that I can't take that step that you want me too. Believe me, I am, cause a part of me wants to take it as well. But for both of our sakes, I _can't_. It won't end well."

Deja felt her eyes stinging, and she squeezed his hand a little tighter, fighting back the moisture that wanted to leak free on pure will alone. "And despite that fear, and despite problematic _me_ as an individual…I still care, and I'm not going to deny that, and God help me, I'm going to keep acting on that every now and then. And I'm sorry if that ever confuses you again, I'm not trying to confuse you, I'm _really_ not." Deja took a steadying breath, refusing to get _too_ emotional—she had to keep enough control to get out everything that she wanted to say. "And all I want to ask…is that you remember that yes, I care, but as badly as I may want to, I can't do more than that. And lastly, I…"

Deja looked up, trailing off and shaking her head to fight off the growing emotion. Damn it, she didn't know how much longer she could keep control of herself.

Dean scooted closer for support, hand tightening around hers as he waited for her to continue.

 _It's all right, take your time and tell me when you're ready. I'm still listening_ , the gesture seemed to say.

"Last night, when you…what happened before we went to ask Michael for his help…there were a few moments where I..." Deja sighed again. This shouldn't have been such a hard thing to talk about, but at the same time, they'd never really vocalized this aspect of what was going on between them. It had stayed firmly in the realm of feeling and gestures, and they had never spoken about it. But right now, it needed to be given a voice so she could make sure it didn't go away. "You've been there for me in some fragile moments no one else has _ever_ seen. And I've tried to be there for you, as well. But there were moments where I felt like, because of our argument…we'd lost that. I felt like…I might have lost the right to be there for you, and that…damn it, I didn't like that feeling at all. It was a different kind of hurt, you know?"

Deja let out a stuttered breath, making sure she kept her control enough to speak—when she really got crying, if it was emotional tears and not angry tears, she had a hard time speaking around the emotion and tears, and she wanted to avoid that.

"I don't want to lose that, Dean. Regardless of where we draw our lines, I want to still be someone you can confide in or lean on, or even get some form of silent comfort from. And I don't want…to lose the privilege of having more of those…of _those_ moments with you for my sake as well, cause God knows I haven't had someone _I_ can turn to in so long, and now that I do, I'm scared to lose it. I'm just so fucking _scared_ , right now."

A tear slipped past her defense, and like lightning her free hand whipped up to wipe it away furiously before it could even make it past her cheekbone. She held Dean's hand in a white knuckled, vice-like grip, but Dean didn't make a sound of complaint, listening silently to everything she had to say. Once she had firm control once again, grateful that Dean let the silence remain as she gathered herself, she turned to face him, still clutching his hand in hers as she looked to _him_ again, looked to his eyes.

She was surprised to see he had a tear blazing a trail from his eye, the rest of its cousins barely held back by his own sheer will. Her throat closed at the sight, and she reached up with her free hand to rest her right palm on the side of his face, fingers slowly trailing through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as she simply felt his soft hair slipping between her fingers. His breath hitched, but she resisted immediately leaning in. She still had something to say—or rather, something to repeat, for the most part—to make sure he understood.

Looking him in the eyes, Deja muscled past her own emotions, voice a little shaky but sincere and thankfully firm in tone. "You are…a good man. A _good_ man. Far too good for someone as broken and messed up inside—and possibly damned no matter what, despite best efforts—as me. I am _no_ angel, my past has secrets that could kill, and I do not want you caught in the crossfire of that. I don't want to put you through the pain that would be getting close to me. You deserve… _far_ better than me. But I _do_ care, no matter how much that scares me, and I want to be here for you when you need me to, and…I don't want to leave, even if every instinct in me has been screaming to bolt before something goes wrong." She paused so her next words could have the emphasis she wanted. "You are a good man, and I care, and I don't want to ever leave, and I want to still be here for you no matter where we may currently stand."

Now there were more tears, she watched them fall one by one, very slowly, as she talked. When she finished, she leaned in, but not to do what he'd initially thought. Dean closed his eyes, sucking in a sharp, shaky breath as she gently pressed her lips to his temple, letting them linger before she pulled away, giving his hand one more tight squeeze.

"I just want you to know that," she whispered before gently untangling her hands from his hair and hand, taking enough time to wipe the tear tracks from his face before she stood and left the room, wiping the tears from her own face so that Dean would be the only one to know what had just happened.


	17. Chapter 16: Provenance, Part 1

After the emotionally charged case at Fitchburg, an air of awkwardness seemed to hand between Deja and the Winchesters. It wasn't much of a problem since most of that time was spent on the road or in separate rooms, but when they were all in the same room the discomfort was glaringly obvious—Sam being sucked into the discomfort by being the third wheel that wasn't aware of why there was so much obvious awkwardness between Dean and Deja in the first place. He had a glimmer of an idea, but that was it, so being stuck in the middle was a rather difficult position for him.

Thankfully, Dean and Deja had made a point of gradually overcoming that awkwardness, and were starting to fall back into their old routine of playful teasing and meaningless flirts.

Except, sometimes, gazes lingered, and maybe there would even be a flicker of longing in someone's eyes. Neither of them made a move, despite that. Dean had officially backed off and stopped with the weightier flirts and the active perusal for Deja's attention, giving control of where they stood regarding each other to Deja. He wouldn't be the one to make the move anymore, because he was going to wait for her to make the first move, which she didn't plan on ever doing.

One thing Deja _did_ notice was that Dean had fallen back into his habit of actively seeking out some lucky lady for him to hit on every time they stopped somewhere, someone he'd make the drink of the day if he could. But it wasn't just the fact that he was sleeping with girls actively again, it was the fact that he seemed to be sleeping with _more girls than normal_. He hadn't even been this bad when they'd stayed in Chicago.

It had gotten to the point where Deja always got two bed rooms so that she was prepared for _when_ —not if, _when_ —Sam would need somewhere else to sleep because Dean had yet another girl over.

It wasn't that she was complaining about it, she wasn't going to do that—she refused to be the jealous type, especially one of the ones who said no repeatedly and clearly but still expected him to fawn over her and have eyes for _only_ her. No, that was just pathetic. On top of that, Dean wasn't normally one for commitment anyway, so after she turned him down when he put himself out there, it wasn't entirely surprising he'd gone back to his ladies' man ways.

What _was_ surprising was how _many_ ladies there were.

Was he… _rebounding_?

All of this floated through Deja's mind as he watched Dean flirt with a brunette at the bar of the establishment their group was currently haunting, Sam and Deja remaining at a table with John Winchester's journal open and two different freshly picked up, semi-local papers between them as they looked for a new case. It was strange being with Sam more often than Dean recently, but that was how things had ended up working out with Dean's extracurricular activities. Still, it allowed her to bond more with the younger Winchester, which hadn't happened nearly as much as with Dean considering how much of her time she had spent with Dean.

"I think I've found something," Sam said suddenly, which prompted Deja to tear her eyes away from Dean and turn her attention to Sam as he handed her his paper, pointing to an article about a couple whose throats had been slashed in their own home as he started trying to wave Dean down.

"Good luck pulling him away from the brunette," she muttered absentmindedly, brows furrowed as she scanned the article in front of her. Much to her disappointment, it only took two tries for Sam to wave Dean down—she'd thought Dean would be a little more stubborn with how into the girl at the bar he seemed to be—and soon their lonely group of two was temporarily three once more.

"All right, so, I think I've got something," Sam announced once Dean reached them, placing three glasses of beer on the table as Deja smoothed the article out for everyone to see.

"Yeah, me too," Dean said distractedly, glancing back at the bar where the brunette was watching him with a flirty smile. Deja didn't pay her any mind—or Dean, so she didn't think that she had competition or something. She'd learned she had to make it clear she wasn't going to sweep in and snag Dean out from under any potential hookups after the bartender in Chicago.

She'd hate to hurt his chances simply by existing or being in the same building.

"I think we need to take a little short leave, for just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one, come on," Dean asked Sam, licking his lips absently as he stared his younger brother down as if trying to will him into saying yes.

Apparently, she didn't have a say in this.

Either that, or Dean had some sort of card he was hoping to play that would make the odds two against one to where majority ruled her opinion out.

 _Whatever_.

Sam let out a long suffering sigh. "So what are we today, Dean? Are we rock stars? Are we army rangers?"

"Reality TV scouts looking for people with special skills." The concept was so hilarious their group of three was all laughing before Dean finished the sentence, Dean included. Dean's wide smile and sparkling eyes were infectious, as was Sam's muffled laughter as he buried his face in his hand, shaking his head. "But, hey, it's not that far off, right?"

Dean glanced back at the bar, pausing to take a drink of his beer before looking at his little brother, his voice becoming leading. "By the way, she's got a friend over there—I can probably hook you up, what do you think?"

Deja followed Sam's gaze back to the brunette, who was now accompanied by a blonde.

At least Dean never tried to hook her up with anyone. Then again, he knew from personal experience why he shouldn't try to.

Sam looked away from the girls at the bar. "Dean, uh, no thanks. I can get my own dates," he said a little haltingly. Dean was speaking before Sam even had time to finish saying _dates_.

"Yeah, you can, but you don't," Dean said casually, staring his brother down once more.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sam asked. Deja folded her arms on top of one another and simply dropped her head into them like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand.

 _Dear God, there's no end to this, is there?_

"Nothing—what've you got?" Dean asked, and Deja's head popped back up.

 _Oh, sweet mercy, I've been spared…for now._

"Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York, were both found dead in their home just a few days ago." Dean hummed to acknowledge Sam's information, gaze wandering back to the two women waiting for him still at the bar, the distant, distracted look slowly glazing across his features. "Throats were slit, there were no prints, no murder weapons, all—Dean?"

Dean shamelessly watched another pair of girls pass by despite the two waiting for him at the bar, and Sam scowled while Deja's eyebrows only rose a little at the action.

 _A little over indulgent recently, are we, Dean?_

She was starting to think her theory about him being on the rebound was right.

Sam's voice saying his name in a sharp tone called Dean's attention back to the possible case, his gaze turning back to his brother with an innocent expression that was foiled by the fact that he obviously didn't know what Sam had just said. Sam tried again.

"No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows were locked from the inside."

Dean nodded, taking another drink. "Could just be a garden-variety murder, you know, not our department."

Deja couldn't help the bitch-face that she gave him at that statement. _Really? A murder with the same kind of strangeness as the ones we looked at in Chicago—different MO, of course, otherwise I'd be saying_ handle with extreme care _and keeping an eye on the shadows…possibly sleeping with my room lit up like Christmas._

Sam held up a finger to stop his brother from dismissing the case entirely, already turning John's journal over so Dean and Deja could both see. "No, Dad says different."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, taking a seat as he seemed to finally accept this was going to take a few minutes.

"Look. Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one, right here, 1912, the second one in 1945, and the third in 1970. The same MO as the Telescas—the throats were slit, the houses were locked from the inside…Now, so much time passed between the murders that nobody checked the pattern, except for Dad. He always kept his eyes peeled for another one."

"And now we got one," Dean finished.

"Exactly."

"All right, I'm with you, it's worth checking out," Dean said with an easy nod. "We can't pick this up till first thing, though right?"

Sam's brows furrowed slightly. "Yeah."

"Good!" Dean said happily, already up and moving in a rush back to the bar.

"Dean…" Sam said, though the attempt was only half-hearted, and Dean was already slipping in between the two ladies with a cocky smirk on his face.

"And there he goes," Deja mused, a small smile on her face as she comfortingly patted Sam's knee. "Don't worry, buddy-boy, you can bunk with me again tonight."

Sam laughed, though it seemed part out of incredulity. "Is it just me, or is he getting worse?"

"He's getting worse, but I think it's a temporary thing, we'll just have to wait it out," Deja assured him, already gathering up their stuff. "Come on, you know I brought my car, we can leave before he tries to set you up with one of them, grab something to eat, and watch a movie back at the motel while diving a little deeper into this case."

Sam quickly got to his feet, snapping John's journal shut. "Deal."

* * *

The next morning, Deja drove separately to the Telescas' house while Sam drove the exhausted Dean in the Impala. He was still conscious when she and Sam went to investigate the Telescas, Deja taking the time to pose as a close cousin of Ms. Telesca and talk to the neighbors while Sam swept the house. It didn't take too long, but when they approached their cars once more, they could both see Dean slumped against the window with sunglasses on, passed out cold. A few soft snores even reached them as they came closer to the car.

Instantly, a mischievous smile broke out across Sam's face, and with a simple _quiet_ gesture he hurried around the car as silently as he possibly could, leaning in the window and then blaring the horn. Dean let out a shout, lurching awake with hands flying out to defend himself or knock something away—she wasn't sure which, but he probably wasn't sure either—sitting bolt upright in the seat and looking around for the offender.

Deja and Sam erupted into laughter, Deja approaching the passenger side as Sam slipped into the driver's seat of the car. Dean scowled at them, slumping back against the passenger door as Deja leaned down to peer through the window, still grinning.

"Oh, man, that's _so_ not cool," he grumbled, resting his head against his hand.

"I just swept the Telesca house with the EMF—it's clean," Sam said, and Dean pulled off his sunglasses carelessly, letting them drop down into his lap as he squinted at Sam. He must have had a little bit of a hangover…or he'd rolled around quite a bit with the brunette. Who knew? "And last night, while you were…busy…"

Dean licked his lips. "Mm, good times," he murmured with a grin, biting down on his lower lip as he no doubt reminisced. Sam rolled his eyes and pushed on with business.

"…we checked the history of the house. No vanishings, no violent crimes, nothing strange about the Telescas themselves, either."

Dean finally participated, his voice still gruff with sleepiness. "All right, so if it's not the people, and it's not the house, then, uh, then maybe it's the contents—a cursed object or something."

Sam shook his head. "House is clean."

"Yeah, I know, you said that."

"No, I mean it's empty. No furniture, nothing."

Dean looked taken aback, staring at Sam. "Where's all their stuff?"

Sam nodded towards Deja. "Deja talked to the neighbors—All of it is up to be sold at an auction house."

"When's the auction start?"

"Today, in an hour or two," Deja told him. Dean sighed, running a hand down his face.

"I guess we'll just have to drop by and take a look for ourselves, then."

"Right. Well, you take your time waking up, sleepyhead, I'll meet you guys there," Deja chuckled, playfully ruffling Dean's hair. He ducked away with a grumpy scowl, but she was already headed for her car before he could voice his complaint.

* * *

"Silent auctions, estate sales—it's like a garage sale for W.A.S.P.s, if you ask me," Dean muttered to Sam as they perused the clutter of _stuff_ from the Telescas' home. Classical music played in the background, and Dean kept his eye out for waiters with free food or champagne, snagging a few samples off passing trays and quickly popping them in his mouth as they moved through the rows of fancy crap for sale. He also kept an eye out for Deja, who still hadn't arrived.

She wasn't normally late—frankly, he'd expected her to get here before he and Sam did.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Came a prudish male voice behind them, and both Sam and Dean turned to face a shorter man with well-groomed white hair in an expensive looking suit. Dean swallowed as much food as he could, speaking around what remained.

"I'd like some champagne, please," he asked, adding a small smile at the end and hoping it still had the same effect despite the slight bulge to his cheeks. Sam looked at him in mild horror.

"He's not a _waiter_!"

Oh…

Dean tried to swallow quickly, realizing he might have offended the guy.

No harm done, it's an honest mistake.

"I'm Sam Conners," Sam said politely, holding out a hand for the man to shake as he tried to repair the situation. The man glanced at Sam's hand with a look of distaste before Sam let it go, gesturing to Dean. "This is my brother, Dean. We're art dealers with Conners limited."

"You're art dealers?" the man asked, tone disbelieving.

Sam still kept his voice polite. "Yes, that's right."

"I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, gentlemen, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list."

Dean gave him a confident smile. "We're there, Chuckles. You just need to take another look." Sam's horrified look grew exponentially, but Dean ignored it. A waiter passing by with two champagne glasses on his tray caught his attention, and he turned around to pluck one of the glasses off the tray, inhaling the sweet, sweet smell of high class champagne. "Oh, finally!"

"Actually, you're not," Deja's voice suddenly said from off to their right. Dean was taken aback, mid-drink as he turned to face her, ready to give her a full _what do you think you're doing_ look for saying they weren't on the list.

Instead, he choked on the champagne, sputtering as the champagne went down the wrong way and he blatantly stared at the woman before him.

As she spared him a passing glance, her turquoise eyes seemed more vibrant than normal, framed by black eyeliner in an elegant cat eye style, a dusting of modestly sparkling blue and white eyeshadow gracing her eyelids. Her usually rosy lips—currently forming a graceful frown—were now a glossy dark red on the outside fading to a pale pink towards the inside. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled up into a low bun, a few stray strands of wavy hair falling in her face.

She wore an ice blue sleeveless cocktail dress that shimmered and sparkled like it was adorned with diamonds, a slit on the left side that stopped just under her hip, a sweetheart neckline that teased the cleavage of her chest, and the slim dress clinging to her curves, accenting a healthy hourglass frame that was usually only teased by jeans and comfortable shirts. She even wore slim silver and diamond—honestly, probably fake diamond, but it still sparkled—sandal styled heels that brought her roughly to Dean's height.

Even Sam was staring.

Deja's attention wasn't on them long as she turned to Blake, shifting a white clutch to one hand and holding her hand daintily out to Blake. "Miss Adcox, Mr. Blake, and they're with me. They're new to the business and haven't been to one of these private auctions yet, so I brought them for a learning experience. I apologize, I thought they would know to wear something more suited for a formal event and would be on their best behavior," she said sincerely as she shook Blake's hand, giving Dean _specifically_ a chastising glare. "I thought this would be a good opportunity for them to learn. I'll keep them on a short leash, make sure they behave."

Blake looked between her and the two Winchesters, gaze narrowing slightly when he looked at Dean before returning his gaze to Deja. "Just make it quick," he said, turning and leaving them behind.

Dean hadn't even registered the conversation. He was too busy staring and trying as hard as he could not to let it show that he had several fantasies running rampant through his mind at the moment. All he could think about was how much he wanted to crush his lips against the pink and red of her mouth, undo the tight up-do and feel her hair cascade down through his fingers, run his hand along her exposed thigh and slip it under the dress…

 _No, no, she won't even kiss you,_ no _. Hands to yourself, don't even bother to ask, not even jokingly._

 _But_ God _, just_ look _at her!_

Deja turned to face them, diamond teardrop earrings swaying slightly, her expression serious but also exasperated. "What the hell, you two! I thought you knew to at least dress up! Don't you both have suits, those would have been better than casual dress. And you could have at least snuck a peek at the guest list and pretended to be someone on the list, like I just did," she hissed quietly.

"We thought it was just a regular auction," Sam said defensively. Deja swiped away a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes, turning to Dean.

"Dean…really? You're sticking out like a sore thumb—please, for the love of _God_ , slow down on the munching. You don't have to eat less, just…be less noticeable about it, at least. And next time, don't insult the owner of the establishment _to his face_ ," Deja pled.

"Wh…" Dean made an attempt to speak, but it fell flat.

 _Words, Dean,_ use _them, damn it!_

"I, uh…yeah, yeah, sure," Dean managed to say.

 _What did I just agree to?_

Deja blinked, leaning back and giving him a strange look. Crap, was he that obvious? "Okay…well, let's just get a good look at the Telescas' stuff and get out of here before any more toes are stepped on," she said, turning around to head in the other direction.

Sam patted Dean on the back a few times almost sympathetically, miraculously getting Dean to finally tear his eyes away from Deja—though that was partially because she was now mostly hidden as she started walking through some taller furniture like dressers and wardrobes. "Way to woo the woman, there, James Bond," Sam said, lips twitching towards a smile before he followed after Deja. Dean stood there for a moment, still recovering from the shock.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he finally said to no one in particular, as Sam and Deja had already moved on. He saw more champagne glasses passing nearby and went out of his way to snag another one, hurrying to catch up to his brother and Deja as they weaved their way through all the things up for auction.

 _I can't woo this particular woman as much as I would like to, she doesn't_ want _to be wooed…_

As he caught up to the other two, he heard the tail end of the conversation they were having.

"…hate dresses. I hate skirts, too. I never wear them if I can help it. And if I have anything to say about it, then you probably won't see me wear one ever again," Deja was saying quietly as the pair started picking through the Telescas' stuff.

 _Well, damn, if that's the case, I'm going to look as much as I can_ while _I can._

Dean came even with Deja, offering her the champagne glass. She straightened, pausing from looking at a piece of clay—statue, art, _whatever_ —and taking the proffered glass from him. "Thanks."

"Yeah, thought you might want one. And it goes with the dress, too," Dean said, drawing a smile from her.

 _Good, even I thought that line was a little cheesy._

He gestured to the dress she wore, trying to figure out how to go about his questions without it sounding like he was hitting on her. "So, uh…did you run out and get that, or has that always been hiding in your stuff?"

"No, I've always had it. I keep a formal dress handy in case a situation like this crops up. Though I'm enough of a girly girl I don't like to wear the same formal dress over and over, so after I wear them I trade them in. Which means I'm gonna say goodbye to this dress after this and go looking for something else."

"What? Don't get rid of it," Dean told her, his tone sounding offended at the thought of her selling the dress. She stared at him as he took a drink of his champagne.

"Why?" she asked curiously.

 _Because it does things to me and makes me want to just—No, probably shouldn't say that part. The other part I think I can get away with._

Dean allowed himself to give her another once over, though this time right in front of her while she was looking at him. "Because…you're stunning."

Deja's cheeks suddenly flushed pink and she turned away, trying to hide her flustered state by taking a sip of her champagne and pretending like some designer tan chair had caught her attention, offering him no answer.

This was unfair. She told him no, wouldn't even kiss him, but told him she cared as well, told him she wanted _more_ , but still said it wasn't ever going to happen, then wore something like this while he was trying to move on from the rejection.

It did _not_ help him cope. It only made him want her more, damn it.

Their group perused the selection a little longer, finding nothing that caught their eye until Sam spotted one creepy looking portrait resting on the ground, his gaze lingering on it longer than it had anything else. His attention to the item garnered Dean and Deja's attention too, and they all gathered around the portrait, staring at it with different levels of disturbed on their faces.

"A fine example of American primitive, wouldn't you say?" Came a new voice before anyone could speak, and they all turned to see a brunette in a black knee-high dress with straps descending the iron spiral staircase behind them.

Sam looked away, but Dean took a few more seconds to watch the newcomer, slapping Sam's shoulder in a silent _hey, check this one out_ gesture.

She had nothing on Deja, but she was still hot.

"Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses…" Sam suddenly said as he turned to face the woman that was now standing in front of their group. She smiled and looked down as if caught in some act, though Dean was completely lost as to what was going on. "…but you knew that. You just wanted to see if I did."

"Guilty," she admitted, looking back up at Sam. Dean saw a tray of mini quiche passing them and quickly snatched two up and put his now empty glass on it as well before the tray could disappear, earning a chastising glare from Deja. He returned her icy look with an innocent _who, me?_ expression before popping an entire quiche in his mouth, and she rolled her eyes without saying a word about it. "And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake."

"I'm Sam. And this is my…" Sam sighed, the sound coming out as longsuffering when he saw Dean munching away on the appetizers again. "…brother, Dean. And this is our friend Deja."

"Dean," Sarah said politely, watching him finish getting down the first quiche and prepare to send the other one down the hatch after the first. He hummed in acknowledgement, the warning glare he was getting from Deja giving him the feeling she would reach over and smack him if he tried to speak before he swallowed. "Can we get you some more mini quiche?"

Deja hid her soft laugh with a cough, but Dean only shook his head, giving Sarah a charming smile. "Mnh-mnh, I'm good, thanks," he said happily, and Sarah's attention immediately turned to Sam.

 _Oh…I think she's got a thing for Sammy…_

"So, can I help you with something?" Sarah asked. Deja slid over to Dean's side, as it seemed Sarah seemed to be giving all of her attention to Sam instead of the two of them.

 _That's…she's wearing perfume, cause that's a new smell. It's floral…not roses, though. Hell, I've smelled that on so many girls, I've gotten a little sick of the scent…usually it's green apple and strawberries with her, but this time there's something floral, too…_

"Yeah, actually," Sam said as Deja came to stand close to Dean on his right and Dean continued to try and place the new smell. "What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?"

"The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling their things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing—sensationalism brings out the crowds," Sarah replied. "Even the rich ones."

She smiled at Sam, who smiled back, and Dean glanced between the two. _Yeah, she's definitely into him_.

As if to highlight his thought, Deja leaned over and gave him a slight nudge, looking pointedly between the two and winking.

Yup, she thought so as well.

"Is it possible to see the provenances?" Sam asked. Deja's arm suddenly looped through Dean's as she cut into the conversation.

"Actually, we've got to go," she said with an outwardly warm smile but eyes that said _take me seriously, I'm not kidding around_.

"What?" Sam asked, thrown off. Deja inclined her head to their right.

"I believe Miss Adcox just arrived," she said casually, so Sarah wouldn't know what was going on. Sam and Dean, however, quickly realized what she meant.

The woman she'd impersonated had arrived. And a quick glance to their right revealed a quickly approaching, angry Mr. Blake.

 _Yup, that's our cue_.

Deja was already tugging Dean away in a direction that was apparently meant to avoid Mr. Blake but still take them out of the auction house while Sam tried to excuse their group as politely as he could to Sarah.

"I'm sorry, we do have to go. I, uh…maybe I'll see you around."

"I hope to see you again, too, Sam," Sarah replied, and with one last smile Sam joined Deja and Dean and they hastily made their way out of the auction house _without_ running into Mr. Blake.

* * *

After getting changed back into jeans and a t-shirt and jacket and set up in her own room—disco themed rooms, that was definitely new, though she kinda liked the black and white scheme—Deja slipped over to the boys' room, surprised when, after Dean let her in, she saw Sam dressed in a suit.

 _Oh, now he wears one…wait, what's going on?_

"Did I miss something? What's Sam all fancy for?" she asked with a smile, taking in his nervous appearance as he smoothed down his suit—probably for the thousandth time.

"Sammy's got a date with Sarah," Dean said with a grin.

"Really? Well that was quick," Deja mused, approaching the slightly scowling Sam and pulling his hands away from the hem of the suit, fixing the collar of the button-up white shirt underneath. "You look fine, Sam, don't worry so much. You've got this," she told him, giving him a wink.

Sam laughed slightly, allowing a smile to show through despite the nerves. "Thanks, Deja."

"Go get her," Deja chuckled, gently punching his shoulder and pushing him towards the door. Once he was gone, Deja looked over at Dean, hands shoved in her back pockets. "So, you got plans too, or...?"

She asked expecting him to have some girl's number ready to be called, but hoping he didn't.

"Other than waiting for Sam, not really," Dean sighed, dropping down onto his bed.

"Well, aren't you exciting today," Deja chuckled, picking up the cocktail shaker and the martini glasses off the living room table as she made her way to him. "Now…this place is lame and doesn't have a television, but they did give us _this_. Give me a few minutes to hit up a couple stores and we can have a little bit of a party while Sam's on his date, what do you say?"

"Deja…are you carrying out an elaborate plot to have drunken sex with me?" Dean asked in a mockingly serious tone, eyes sparkling like polished emeralds. Deja laughed.

"You wish," she teased, setting the glasses down. "So, is that a yes?"

"Sign me up—how fast can you make the run?"

"You won't even know I was gone," Deja told him with a smirk, handing him the cocktail shaker before heading out the door.

* * *

Apparently, being a lover of tequila that always kept a bottle on hand, Deja knew how to make a few cocktails with tequila, and had decided that they were going to have margaritas today. So, she'd started them on a rotation of cherry beer margaritas, and even scrounged up a nice bottle of champagne for sparkling margaritas. They'd been pacing themselves rather well until one of them got the bright idea to play Never Have I Ever, and after that, as they'd been rapidly descending towards drunkenness, they'd started playing Truth or Dare. They were at least both sober enough he didn't pry into her past and she didn't try to corner him with any deep or emotionally charged questions.

He could tell, however, by the tipsy sway she'd started to display and the sensation he was rather familiar with, that they were starting to get drunk. Like… _might do something they'd regret_ , drunk.

Hopefully Sam wouldn't be coming home any time soon.

"All right, all right…so…truth or dare?" Dean asked. Deja giggled.

"I'm gonna break the mold…and say dare. C'mon, give me a good one," Deja said, taking another drink of her sparkling margarita.

"Okay…dare, dare…how about…you pole dance for at least a minute. Without a pole," he said with a grin. Deja snorted.

"Sorry, but that won't work—can't pole dance without a pole."

"Oh, but you could _with_ one?"

"There's not a pole in here, so you'll never know," Deja teased, throwing him a wink. Dean chuckled.

"All right, fine, then how about belly dancing, and we'll make it two minutes since that's easier."

"That's a long time to be watching me…"

"I won't do anything more than look, I _promise_ ," Dean told her, miming crossing his heart.

"All right, fine, let's just get this over with, I'll do it," Deja said with a snort, putting her glass down and standing up. She cleared her throat, putting on a serious face for about three seconds before she started laughing again, hands placed more like she was getting ready to start a ballerina's routine than a belly dance. "I hope I can still do this…"

" _Still_ do this? You actually know how to belly dance?"

"Kinda. Long story, it's been over a decade, but I think I can remember some stuff. Just…tell me when to go!"

Dean laughed and checked his phone, waiting until it changed before giving her a nod, and she started doing her best impression of a belly dancer, smiling and breaking out in laughter several times as her hips rolled and swayed. For a second, he thought that was all she'd do, but then he realized she was just warming up as she seemed to fall into a more comfortable rhythm, hips rising left and right in a smooth roll that quickly had him hypnotized. She teased a shimmy before trying for a smooth belly wave, her shirt rising slightly to tease some skin before she went back to a slow rise and fall of her hips, left and right…

She rotated her hips in a full circle, then suddenly went into a full, fast paced shimmy, face screwed up in concentration as she tried to focus past the alcohol to keep with her fast-paced dancing for at least the whole two minutes. Dean wasn't even really paying attention to the clock like he was supposed to, his attention was on her movements; smooth, enrapturing, maybe even a little…erotic, at times.

Better than a pole dance, honestly.

"Time?" she asked, shimmy slowing to a smooth roll once more and a little more skin appearing as her shirt slid a little further up. Dean blinked, forced out of her spell for a brief moment as he glanced at the clock on his phone.

"Almost there," he told her, looking back up to see her hips moving up and down again, another belly wave, a tease of another shimmy…

"Time," he finally said, and Deja fell back to the ground with a laugh, snatching her glass back up from where she left it as she pulled down her shirt so it covered her completely once again, no more teased skin.

"That was actually a little fun," she chuckled, taking a drink.

"Where did you learn that?"

"Oh, my mom used to do belly dancing as a way to exercise—she had me join in to burn off some energy and I picked up a few moves," she giggled. "Okay, now, it's your turn. Truth or dare? Please say dare, the truth thing is getting a little repetitive," Deja pled, working her lower lip between her teeth as she stared him down.

"Do I even get a choice?" Dean laughed, watching her excited movements.

"Just pick!" she whined, getting Dean to laugh again.

"Okay, okay—dare."

She surprised him by setting her drink down and leaning in, hand slipping up his arm, sliding to the back of his neck and twining into the hairs at the nape of his neck. "Here's your dare, Winchester…" she said, holding his gaze. He felt trapped by her spell, though it wasn't unwillingly.

"Kiss me."

His brain functions seemed to stop for several long, heart-pounding moments, her watching his every move with a lazy smile, eyes half lidded.

He shifted in place, hand moving up to cup her cheek, all the things he'd wanted to do earlier flashing through his mind as he came closer, both their breathing growing noticeably shallower.

 _God, yes, I'd love to…_

Her nose brushed against his, her eyes closing as his fell half lidded. He paused when he almost knocked over her glass leaning in.

 _And yet…_

He could smell the alcohol on her breath, he'd seen her swaying, heard the constant giggling. She was drunk, and he still had enough sobriety to him to know she was drunk and wasn't thinking as clearly as normal.

And he knew…even if she was daring him to…she didn't want this, not really. The most she'd ever been willing to give him was a kiss to the temple. He wasn't going to kiss her now when she was drunk and would no doubt regret it in the morning, especially if it led to something more.

No…he was sober enough he could be the responsible one here. He could respect her wishes and respect her. He wasn't going to take advantage of her current state of being.

"No, um…" Dean cleared his throat, pulling away and dropping his hand to her shoulder, pulling her hand out from behind his neck. "I think…that's our sign to stop. You're drunk, and uh…you might need to sleep this off."

Deja pouted. "C'mon, Dean, please?" she asked, hand clenching in his shirt. He smiled, standing and pulling her up with him, letting her lean into his chest for support. She looked up at him, eyes locking with his as he waited for her to steady.

"No, it's time for you to rest," he said, picking her up and quickly laying her on his bed. She squeaked when he dropped her to the mattress.

"I don't want to sleep," she complained, and he laughed as she tugged him towards her and she rolled onto her side. She was an insistent little drunk, wasn't she?

"Too bad, you're gonna sleep if I have to knock you out," he teased, ruffling her hair playfully as she giggled.

"Fine…can I finish my drink, first?" she asked.

" _No_ , you _cannot_ —no more for you. Sleep!"

She huffed, flopping onto her back dramatically and watching him as he moved about the room cleaning up their cocktail mess. Eventually, he looked up to see her passed out cold, sleeping soundly on his bed, lips parted slightly and her chest rising and falling at an even, steady pace.

Once everything was cleaned up, Dean pulled up one of the chairs, simply watching her sleep for a few quiet moments before he leaned back in the chair, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes.

Yes, he wanted her. Yes, he wanted to kiss her, to touch her.

But not like that.

If he was ever to have her, he wanted it to be of her own _sober_ choice when she was ready.

He didn't want to be a drunken mistake, not with her.

* * *

Later, when Sam came back, Dean had sobered up even more, splashed water on his face a few times to stay alert, and was fighting back the inevitable kickback of having several drinks. Deja was still passed out cold, and she was going to stay like that as long as possible so that hopefully, when she woke up, her hangover wouldn't be as bad as it could be.

Cause she'd been a _tiny_ bit drunker than him.

At the moment, while Sam shuffled through the stack of papers he'd come home with, Dean sat on the edge of his bed out of the way of Deja's sleeping form, sharpening his knife to keep himself busy while he listened to Sam talk about how the night had gone.

"So, she just handed the providences over to you?" Dean asked, voice quiet for Deja's sake despite the fact that he doubted a nuclear blast would wake her up right now.

"Prove _nan_ ces," Sam corrected him just as quietly, eyes glued to the papers in his hands.

"P-pr-prove _nan_ ces?" Dean tried again, rolling the word experimentally a few times.

"And yes, we went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers…" Sam said, trailing off at the end. Dean watched him for a moment before prompting him to continue.

"And?"

"And nothing, that's it, I left," Sam said shortly, sounding annoyed. Dean stared at him for a few long moments.

"You didn't have to con her or-or do any special favors, or anything like that?"

"Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?" Sam asked sharply, prompting Dean to laugh, having to stifle the sound in his arm to keep it quiet before he calmed down and spoke again, his tone leading.

"You know, when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a bit."

"Why?"

"So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even _I_ can see that," Dean muttered, looking down at the knife once more. Sam didn't answer, choosing instead to change the subject entirely.

"Hey, all right, I think I've got something here."

Dean put the knife and whetstone away, rising from his spot on the bed to come over and take the seat beside Sam, glancing back at Deja when she sighed and rolled over, but remained asleep on his bed. Sam handed Dean a few of the papers he was looking over, watching as Dean quickly scanned the first page.

"Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910," Dean read aloud.

"Now compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal."

"First purchased in 1912 to Peter Sims…Peter Sims murdered 1912." This was sounding like their haunted or cursed object, and he continued to glance between his father's journal and the few pages he shuffled through in his hands. "Same thing in 1945…oh, same thing in 1970."

"Then stored. Until it was donated to a charity auction last month, where the Telescas bought it," Sam said pointedly. "So, what do you think? It's haunted or cursed?"

Dean shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "Either way, it's toast."

Sam looked back at where Deja lay asleep on Dean's bed, glancing back at Dean for a split second. "Should we wake her up?"

Dean followed Sam's gaze back to Deja, shaking his head once he saw how peaceful she looked at the moment. "No, let her sleep. The longer she sleeps, the better."

"I don't think I've ever seen her hungover before," Sam mused.

"Oh, I have—and even then, she probably hadn't drank as much as she just did, so this is probably gonna be worse. She gets a day in bed—rest and water, all that. C'mon, let's just go fry that painting while there's no one at that auction house."

"Right."

They gathered their stuff rather quickly, knowing this was going to be a quick fix—all they had to do was burn the painting—though while Sam rounded up everything they needed, Dean went back over to Deja, who was still sound asleep on his bed. Taking care not to wake her, Dean gently lifted her upper body, shimmying the covers down before laying her back against the mattress, lifting her feet so he could pull the covers back the rest of the way. Once they were no longer trapped underneath her, Dean pulled them up to her chin, watching as she instinctively snuggled deeper into the bed once the blankets were around her. His hand lingered on her arm as she settled, simply watching her for a moment before he pulled himself out of his daze and turned to leave.

Sam was watching him, eyebrows raised slightly and a knowing look that Dean _did not_ like in his gaze. "What?" Dean asked defensively, shoving his knife into his pocket.

"Nothing—let's go," Sam said, a small smirk in place. Dean scowled but took the out Sam was giving him, going out the door first with Sam close behind him.


	18. Chapter 17: Provenance, Part 2

"We've got a problem—I can't find my wallet."

Deja lifted her pounding head from her hands to look at Dean from where she sat at the edge of Dean's bed, squinting at the elder Winchester as he came flying out of the bathroom, throwing his jacket aside as he started searching his duffel in a frenzy. Sam only looked mildly annoyed at the proclamation, continuing his own packing on the bed next to them.

She was really not looking forward to making a long drive in the car today.

One too many drinks indeed.

"How's that our problem?" Sam asked, a wad of clothes in his hands. Dean brushed right by him as he went over to the living room part of the motel room, grabbing another jacket and starting to check the pockets before yanking it on.

"Because I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night."

Sam froze and Deja groaned, rubbing her forehead in agitation.

She was drunk one night, _one night_ …

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I mean, it's got my prints, my I.D.—well, my fake I.D., anyway, but—we gotta get it before somebody else finds it, come on," Dean announced, moving for the door. Deja rose from her seat on the bed, trying to smooth down her bedraggled hair.

"Okay…okay…I'm coming."

Dean paused with the door already open, turning to face her with a flicker of guilt in his eyes. "No, you can stay and rest, Sam and I've got this."

Deja waved him off. "No, losing your wallet where you committed B and E and destroyed a painting that despite its ugliness was probably worth a lot of money is serious, and an extra pair of eyes means you'll find it sooner."

"Deja…you look terrible, I bet you feel terrible—just stay here, we've got this," Dean again tried to assure her, but she didn't take it, managing to make herself look presentable while Sam shrugged on his coat.

"Deal with it—I'm coming, and don't argue or you'll make my headache worse," Deja grumbled, waving her hand dismissively as she sulked past him and made her way towards the Impala.

They were about to find out that hungover Deja was a grumpy Deja…if they hadn't figured that out already.

* * *

As soon as they were at the auction house, Sam, Dean, and Deja started to tear through the warehouse for Dean's wallet. Since it was so early, there didn't seem to really be anyone in the auction house, but it was at least open. Hopefully they'd be able to find the missing wallet before anyone else.

The three of them immediately spread out, Sam and Dean checking on either side of one aisle while Deja checked along the wall, looking rather miserable.

The hangover Dean told Sam about must have really been doing a number on her. Maybe they should stick around long enough for her to get some more rest before they tried to hit the road again…

"How do you lose your wallet, Dean?" Sam hissed around a painting as they continued to come up with nothing, Dean only giving him a vague _I don't know_ hand gesture in answer. Sam went to move a box of antiquities out of the way when a familiar voice that, at the moment, caused a spark of panic to jolt through him sounded from behind him.

"Hey, guys!"

Sam whipped around, already scrambling to think of an excuse while Dean and Deja tried to blend into the background. "Sarah! Hey!"

"What are you doing here?" Sarah asked as she approached them, looking happy but also reasonably curious to see them, curls of dark brown hair falling in her face.

Sam looked back towards Dean and Deja as if asking for help trying to come up with an excuse, but they didn't offer him any help, leaving him scrambling still. "Oh…uh…we-we are leaving town, and…you know, we came to say goodbye."

"Awe, what are you talking about, Sam?" Dean suddenly said, appearing at Sam's side. "We're sticking around for at least another day or two."

Sam's brows furrowed as he looked at his suddenly smiling, perfectly happy and nowhere near worried as he'd been a few seconds ago brother, wondering what had suddenly changed.

Maybe he meant another day to give Deja time to recuperate from her hangover, maybe?

"Oh, Sam, by the way, I wanted to go ahead and give you that twenty bucks I owe you."

 _No…_

 _He did not._

Sam stared, slightly open mouthed as Dean pulled _his wallet_ out of his back pocket and held it out where everyone could see it.

The entire thing…had been a ploy.

"I always forget, you know, just…" Dean chuckled as he fished the twenty out of his billfold and Deja came to stand next to Dean.

 _Oh, I'm going to kill him._

"There you go," Dean said with a smug smile, holding the twenty out to Sam. Sam stared at him for a few seconds before he snatched the bill out of his brother's hands, catching the look Deja was giving Dean from behind, arms crossed over her chest.

 _I take it back…I'm going to kill him, if Deja doesn't first._

"Well, I'll leave you two crazy kids alone, I got to go do…something…somewhere," Dean said, that smug smile still in place. It seemed to vanish when Deja stepped even with him, pinching his earlobe between two fingers and _tugging_ , forcing him to lean slightly and follow her.

"Yeah, I believe you and I need to talk," she forced out, and Sam watched with great satisfaction and a feeling of _justice_ as Deja dragged Dean out of the auction house for what he suspected—or rather, hoped—was going to be a rigorous lecture.

* * *

"Easy, easy, what the _hell_ , Deja?" Dean complained once they were out the door and he managed to pull himself free of her ear-abuse. Deja was quick to turn around, eyes narrowed and focused on him.

"Really, Dean? I mean, seriously? Why did you have to give us a heart attack like that, huh? I thought we had an actual _problem_ that needed to be resolved as soon as possible! I thought we were in trouble!" she hissed angrily. Dean held his hands up in defense, leaning back slightly at the intensity in her voice.

"Hey, I told you to stay and rest, but you insisted on tagging along. I didn't plan on you insisting to come along…or having a hangover, for that matter," Dean stated, muttering the last part to himself.

"I insisted I came too because I thought you were being serious! You should have _at least_ told me you were trying to get Sam and Sarah to bump into each other again instead of scaring me to death like that, damn it. I would have played along, or hell, stayed back to rest," she huffed.

"So…you're just complaining about the fact I didn't tell you and you came with us despite your hangover, not that I just tricked Sam into running into Sarah again?"

"Yeah. I'm all for getting those two together again, not so happy about the rest of it," she told him, leaning against the side of Baby, her eyes squinting against the morning sun, forehead crinkling up in slight pain.

A hangover and sunlight did not mix.

Dean opened the driver's side door, grabbing his sunglasses before shutting the door again and offering the shades to her, leaning against the car beside her. "Well then, I'm sorry for not informing you and by default dragging you out here. Forgiven?"

She frowned just slightly, taking the offered sunglasses from his hand but still pouting. "Yeah, you're forgiven," she mumbled.

Dean laughed softly, putting an arm around her and pulling her into a half-hug. "I'm sorry you're not back at the hotel resting right now, I know your hangover's probably quite miserable." Deja grunted quietly in agreement, instinctively resting her head on his shoulder and probably closing her eyes behind the shades. "You probably shouldn't have drank so much—but when we get back you can curl up in bed and sleep to your heart's desire, how's that? We won't leave till tomorrow, at the very least."

"I would like that very much…and sleeping me will be a little more tolerable than hungover me," Deja muttered.

"Nah, you're doing fine—looks like you get my kind of hangovers. Sam becomes best friends with the bathroom, at least you don't have that," Dean reasoned.

"I never said I wasn't sick to my stomach."

"Well…just don't puke in my car and we'll still be on speaking terms."

Deja laughed weakly, and Dean gave her arm a light, reassuring squeeze. Yeah, she was going to need some recovery time.

They stood like that for several moments, and Dean was just starting to think she'd somehow managed to fall asleep on him when she spoke again, her voice so soft he barely heard her. "By the way…it's all a little fuzzy, but…I remember enough to say thank you…and I mean it. Thank you, Dean…it meant—means—a lot to me."

Dean smiled faintly, resting his chin atop her head as he pulled her a little closer. "I'm glad…"

 _Damn it, I'm not going to get over her, am I?_

Suddenly, Sam came out of the auction house with an expression that looked like he was barely holding back panic.

"The painting's in there," Sam said seriously once he reached the two of them. Dean straightened, which caused Deja to pull away.

"What?" Dean asked, disbelieving.

"I don't know how, but I just saw it in one piece being moved in the auction house—it hasn't been sold yet, but it's _there_. I—"

Sam stopped himself, looking around and opening the back door to the Impala, ushering Deja inside the car before he made his way to the passenger's side of the car. Dean got the hint, getting in on the driver's side the same time Sam got in on the opposite side. Once everyone was inside, Sam picked up speaking again.

"I don't understand, Dean, we burned the damn thing."

"Yeah, thank you, captain obvious," Dean muttered, glancing back to see Deja lying down in the back seat, still awake and listening but obviously feeling like sitting up was too much effort. "All right, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it…any ideas?"

"Okay, all right, well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings, it's always the painting's subject that haunts them."

"Yeah…all right, so we need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family in that creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?"

"The Isaiah Merchant family. There's got to be something about them somewhere…"

"Great…so a day of digging through research commences," Deja commented from her spot in the back, voice a little rocky.

" _We_ will do the research, _you_ will be sleeping off this nasty little hangover of yours like I promised so that you're on your game again, one hundred percent and all that," Dean told her, turning around in his seat so he could look her in the eyes.

"Normally, I would argue, but I just don't feel like it right now," Deja grunted.

"Which is why you're resting till you're you again…and plenty of water, that too," Dean muttered, turning back around and starting the car so they could make their way back to the motel.

* * *

Deja slept while Sam and Dean were out looking into the history of the family in the painting, though by the time they returned—which was after night had fallen—Deja was awake and feeling better, though she'd probably still sleep like a rock when they were done for the night.

Since she was feeling better, the three of them now sat together in the boys' hotel room, crowded around the coffee table and peering at the picture Sam was currently talking animatedly about.

"I'm telling you, man, I'm sure of it. Painting at the auction house, the dad is looking down. Painting here…" Sam turned the copy of the original painting they'd gotten out of a history book around to face Dean, pushing it closer his way before continuing. "Dad's looking out. The painting has _changed_ , Dean."

Deja craned her neck to get a good look at the picture, frowning. "Sam's right, the pictures don't match. Not only the father looking a different way, thing, but the painting in the background is different, too; it was a cemetery, not a landscape portrait. That's what I notice is wrong immediately, can't tell you what else is different without looking at the painting again."

Dean stared at her for a moment. "How do you…?"

"I have a good memory when it comes to certain things: what art and pictures look like—its like a picture in my head, almost like photographic memory—pop culture, music, Latin…"

When she trailed off, Dean cut in to steer them back on the right track. "All right, so we think daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and he's handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?"

"Well, yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted then how are we going to stop him?" Sam mused.

Deja shrugged, leaning back in her seat. "Maybe they didn't torch everything, maybe they missed something. It happens—makes our job more difficult, but it happens."

"All right, well if Isaiah's position and the painting in the background changed, then maybe something else in the painting changed as well, you know, it could give us some clues. Like the cemetery Deja says the painting has in the background painting—we might want to take a closer look at that," Dean said pointedly.

"You think it might have some sort of Da Vinci Code deal?" Sam asked.

"I don't…know, I'm still waiting on the movie for that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting," Dean announced, standing up and making his way back over to his bed while Deja hid her smile. "Which is a good thing, cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend."

"Dude—enough already," Sam complained as Dean flopped down on his bed, stretching out with arms folded over his chest.

"What?" Dean asked.

" _What_? Ever since we got here, you've been trying to pimp me out to Sarah! Just back off, all right?" Sam told him, voice raising substantially. Deja let out a low whistle only she could hear, looking up at the ceiling and debating how she was going to escape this one.

"Well you like her, don't you?" Dean asked. Sam made a _why me, I give up_ gesture and rolled his eyes, looking away with an even more annoyed expression on his face. Deja took the brief lull as an opportunity to stand up and make her way towards the mini bar. "All right, you like her, she likes you, you're both consenting adults…"

"What's the point, Dean, we'll just leave! We always leave," Sam snapped, and Deja caught Dean's eyes flicker towards Deja for the briefest second.

… _everyone I get close to leaves._

"Well I'm not talking about marriage, Sam—" Dean explained patiently, though Sam quickly cut him off, clearly angry. Deja was suddenly very interested in the leftover tequila from the night before, though she wasn't about to drink it.

"You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?"

"Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time."

Deja's eyebrows rose and she discreetly let her gaze slide between the momentarily silent brothers, the temporary lull only there because of Dean's unexpected words. Deja again took the opportunity to move, heading into the bathroom this time since it was obvious the conversation was about to be back in the family matter area she was tired of awkwardly witnessing in a forgotten corner. So, as Dean sat back up to answer Sam, Deja shut the bathroom door and simply took a seat on the toilet, deciding to lounge until she thought they might have had enough time to talk.

She waited until she heard Sam's voice speaking in a perfectly normal, peppy tone to move again, flushing the toilet and washing her hands for show before wandering back outside to see Dean back in his reclined position on the bed, watching Sam talk on the phone with Sara, most likely.

"…about you? Yeah, good, good, really good," Sam was saying.

"Smooth," Dean said quietly, earning a glare from Sam and a nudge from Deja.

"Cut him some slack, he's a little out of practice," Deja told him, taking a seat on Sam's bed for once and waiting for Sam to finish talking to Sarah so they would know what they were doing next.

"So, uh—so listen, me and my brother were, uh, thinking that maybe we'd like to come back in and look at the painting again. I-I think maybe we are interested in buying it." The smile suddenly vanished from his face as Sam stood up, tense like he was ready to bolt or fight something. "Wait, what? Who'd you sell it to?"

Dean sat up while Deja stood, everyone preparing to launch into action with whatever Sam was about to say next.

"Sarah, I need an address right now."

* * *

When they peeled into the driveway of the address Sarah had given them, all three of them loaded into the Impala for convenience, there was already a Jeep outside the front of the house with Sarah standing next to it. Sam let out a frustrated sigh as they all got out of the car, already rushing for the front door.

"Sam, what's happening?" Sarah asked as they hurried to the front steps.

"I told you, you shouldn't have come," Sam said in a low voice, Dean, Sam, and Deja taking the steps two at a time while Sarah followed behind. Dean pounded on the door while Sam tried to get a good look through one of the windows, Deja keeping Sarah out of their way.

"Hello, anybody home?" Dean shouted with no answer from inside, which prompted him to start getting ready to try and knock it down.

"You said Evelyn might be in danger—what kind of danger?" Sarah asked.

"I can't knock this sucker down, we gotta pick it," Dean announced, already pulling out what he needed to do just that. Sam moved over to the other window where there was light coming from inside, trying to get a good look inside yet again while Deja stayed behind Dean, waiting for him to get the door open.

"What are you guys, burglars?" Sarah asked, moving over to Sam.

"I wish it was that simple," Sam muttered after unsuccessfully trying to get the bars on the house's windows to budge.

 _Of course this Evelyn would be the kind of person to put bars over the windows and have a door we can't break down._

"Look, you really should wait in the car, it's for your own good," Sam warned her, moving back over to Deja and Dean when his attempt with the windows was obviously failing.

Dean finally got the door open, and all three of them quickly piled through, with Sarah taking up the rear with a defiant, "The _hell_ I will, Evelyn's a friend!"

Nobody argued—they didn't have time to.

"Evelyn?" Sarah called as they shut the door behind them, cautiously stepping inside the completely silent house.

"Evelyn," Sam called as well, his voice echoing through a few of the rooms.

They turned the corner to see the back of a blonde woman sitting in a chair, the only light on in the room the lamp beside her and a light on the far wall. The haunted, cursed, whatever paining was perched above the fireplace, creepy as ever and causing the hairs on the back of Deja's neck to stand on end.

Whether that was her sixth sense going off or just her knowledge of the portrait freaking her out, she wasn't sure.

"Evelyn?" Sarah asked as they all came to a stop in the doorway. The woman didn't move.

 _Oh, I don't like this…_

"Evelyn?" Sarah repeated, the four of them cautiously stepping into the room with still no response. Dean started to walk around, lightly pulling Deja along with him while Sam stayed with Sarah. The woman wasn't blinking, wasn't even twitching at the fact there were three strangers in the room with her, four people in her house who didn't have a key. "It's Sarah Blake, are you all right."

"Sarah, don't, Sarah—" Sam tried to warn her as Sarah reached out to touch Evelyn. The old woman's head fell back unnaturally, revealing that her throat was slit deep enough her head wasn't even all the way attached to her body. Sarah screamed, falling back into Sam's arms and looking up at the portrait on instinct.

The dad, which had been looking down at the daughter in the portrait mere moments ago, was staring out right at them now.

"Oh my God, oh my God," Sarah was chanting as Sam pulled her from the room, and Deja attached herself to Dean's arm.

"Yeah, it's time to go," she said, not about to deny she was freaked out as goosebumps broke out along her arm, tugging him towards the exit. He didn't offer much resistance, following after her with a hand pressed on the small of her back to usher her forward as the two of them made a rapid exit out of the house, Dean keeping himself between her and the killer painting.

* * *

A knock on the hotel room door the next morning caught all of their attention, Dean and Deja looking up from the laptop they were both sitting by and Sam pausing in the pacing that had been starting to get on both Dean and Deja's nerves. Since Sam was already standing up, he was the one who answered the door, stepping aside to let in a rather frazzled looking Sarah.

"Hey…" he said as she brushed past him right into the room. "You all right?"

"No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's _alone_ and found her like that," Sarah said sharply. Dean and Deja shared a look, a happy and somewhat proud smirk showing up on Dean's features—they'd been worried about what they would do if Sarah told the cops about them, so that was one less thing to worry about.

"Thank you," Sam told her. Sarah barely let him finish.

"Don't thank me. I'm about to call them _right back_ if you don't tell me what the _hell_ is going on. Who's killing these people?"

Sam looked over at Dean and Deja, and the three of them shared a look, their expressions holding a clear meaning between the three of them.

They might as well tell her, she was already involved and clearly wasn't going to let it go.

"What," Sam corrected her quietly. Sarah paused, staring at him.

"What?" she echoed.

"It's not _who_ , it's _what_ is killing those people." When Sarah continued to give him a blank stare, Sam sighed and pressed a little more. "Sarah, you saw that painting move."

Sarah shook her head, moving about nervously as she stepped around one of the chairs in the living room area. "No, no, I was, I was _seeing_ things, it's impossible."

"Yeah, well, welcome to our world," Dean chipped in with a smug smile.

"Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted," Sam told her patiently. Sarah laughed under her breath.

"You're joking," Sarah said finally. All three of them looked at her with deadly serious expressions, and the realization dawned on her. "You're _not_ joking. God, the guys I go out with…"

Sam stepped closer to her. "Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting, and there have been others before them. Wherever this thing goes, people die, and we're just trying to stop it…and that's the truth."

Sarah nodded slowly near the end of his explanation, then suddenly looked up with determination in her eyes. "Well then, I guess you better show me. I'm coming with you."

Sarah started to make her way to the door, but Sam stopped her where her back was to Dean and Deja. "What? No. Sarah, no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous. And…" Sam suddenly stopped, as If the words had caught in his throat. Dean's brow furrowed in concern, suddenly watching the exchange much closer as Sam continued, voice a little softer now. "And I don't want you to get hurt."

"Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this, well, me and my dad sold that painting, and might have got these people killed. Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared, cause I am scared as hell, but I'm not going to run and hide, either." With that conviction filled statement, Sarah returned to the door, pausing once she had it open and looking at the three hunters still in the same place. "So are we going or what?"

"Sam…" Dean said slowly as the door shut behind Sarah. He pointed where she'd just disappeared, and with a purely serious voice, said. "Marry that girl."

"Amen," Deja echoed, the two of them giving each other a high five.

* * *

"Aren't you worried that it's gonna…you know, kill _us_?"

They were once more standing in Evelyn's house, Sarah included, after the police had vacated the crime scene for the day. At the moment, even Deja had to admit she shared some of Sarah's reservations about what was going on, but only because she was creeped out. She'd already said she didn't like ghosts, and this was no exceptions, so even though she knew better, she was still a little jumpy.

Why she was jumpy at the moment was the fact that Sam had taken the painting down off of its perch by the fireplace and was currently looking at it with his face only an inch or two away. She knew it wasn't going to attack him at this moment, but it still unnerved her.

"Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we're all right in daylight," Sam stated while Dean looked between their copied picture of the original and the actual painting before them.

"Sam, check it out. The razor, it's closed in this one, but its, ah, open in that one," Dean stated, handing it over to Sam. Deja came closer to look as well, then pointed at the landscape picture in their photo.

"See, just like I said: cemetery, landscape," she stated, gesturing between their picture and the painting.

"What are you guys looking for?" Sarah asked, sounding a little bit like she was feeling left out.

"Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, maybe it's doing so for a reason," Dean told Sarah as he stepped closer to the painting as well. Deja shuffled out of his way so he could get a good look.

"It seems to have focused on a certain _part_ of a cemetery," she hinted, and Dean took the time to look at the painting in the painting.

"Looks like a crypt or a mausoleum, or something," he murmured, stepping away to grab a glass ashtray and using it as a makeshift magnifying glass to make out the name on the top of the mausoleum.

"Merchant."

* * *

"This is the third boneyard we've checked. I think this ghost is jerking us around," Dean muttered as they made their way through yet another field of graves, eyes scanning the distance for the mausoleum that had been in the painting.

"Maybe. I mean, it doesn't make sense for a murdering ghost to give hints on how to stop him, unless we're missing something," Deja replied, walking beside Dean while Sam and Sarah walked behind them.

"That's a lovely thought," Dean sighed before coming to a halt. Deja followed his gaze, taking in the familiar mausoleum a brief walk away. "Over there."

The Merchant crypt stood under a canopy of four dead trees, a few crows fluttering about and a light breeze rustling some of the dead leaves that littered the path up to it away and into the grass. "Uhg…it definitely fits the creepy bill," Deja muttered, earning a laugh from Dean.

"You _really_ don't like the ghost part of the job, do you?"

"Nope, not one bit…and just think, that's like, eighty-five percent of the job."

"One day, you're going to tell me why ghosts creep you out so much."

"And one day, we'll all get through one case without you and Sam having some kind of family drama," Deja returned, giving him a sweet smile as he pulled out his bolt cutters and gave her a relatively mild bitch face before cutting the chains on the crypt. They stepped through, Deja grimacing slightly at the cobwebs that thankfully Dean got rid of as he stepped through first.

They all filed inside, spreading out as much as they could with Dean and Deja looking at the names on one side of the crypt while Sam and Sarah looked at the urns and glass casings in the wall on the other side.

"Okay, that right there, is the creepiest thing I've ever seen," Sarah announced, and Deja turned around to see what she was looking out, a soft groan escaping her once she did see what was inside the glass case Sarah was looking at with distaste.

"I hate dolls…" she muttered.

 _Dolls, spiders, ghosts, what else is fate going to add to make this such a_ wonderful _case, hmm?_

Dean smirked at the look on her face, as if he knew what she was thinking, while Sam—ever the logical one—started to explain _why_ there was a doll in a glass case in a crypt.

"It was, ah…sort of a tradition at the time. Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kids favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone in the crypt."

Of course, while Sam was being logical, Dean was picking up on something before anyone else.

Damn, he was good at this job.

"Notice anything strange here?" Dean asked, eyes studying the urns before him.

"Uh, where do I start?" Sarah asked sarcastically, earning a smile from Sam.

"No, that's not what I mean. Look at the urns," Dean told them, pointing to the four pieces in front of them.

"Yeah, there are only four," Sam said aloud.

"Yeah, mom and the three kids. Daddy dearest isn't here."

"So where is he?"

* * *

After a run to look through county death certificates and a late-night trip to another graveyard for a quick salt and burn, Dean, Deja, Sam, and Sarah went right back to Evelyn's house to make _absolutely_ sure that the salt and burn had worked. All of them agreed that whenever they'd taken care of what was killing the painting's owners, the painting would go back to its original form. That was why, despite the fact it was the middle of the night and they had already salted and burned Isaiah Merchant's bones, they were parking in front of Evelyn's house.

"Dean, keep the motor running," Sam told Dean as he opened the passenger door, Sarah leaning forward from where she sat next to Deja in the back seat.

"I thought the painting was harmless now?"

"Better safe than sorry. We're gonna bury the sucker," Sam told her. Sarah already had her hand on the handle of her door.

"I want to come with you."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, even as she opened the door and slipped out of the car.

"Yeah."

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean hissed to Sam as Sarah walked around the front of the car. "We'll stay here, you go make your move."

Sam only scoffed, getting out of the car.

"S-Sam! I'm serious!" Dean whispered, but Sam just kept walking.

Deja reached forward and patted Dean's arm. "Nice going there, Cupid."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Dean muttered before he leaned forward and flipped on the radio.

"…this is what it's like, I'm in love. So this is what my life, could become!" the song was singing, and Deja had to bite down on her knuckles to keep from laughing as Sam stopped, gave Dean a _really, dude_ look, and gestured for Dean to cut the music.

"Wonderful matchmaking there," Deja quipped again as he shut off the radio.

"Shut up," he groaned, leaning his head back and staring at her in the darkness.

"I will when you do," she returned with a sly smirk. Dean rolled his eyes, sitting up once again and casting his gaze towards the door.

At the exact moment that it swung shut on its own.

Dean and Deja didn't need any prompting to both fly out of the Impala, racing up the steps and trying to open the suddenly immoveable door. Deja got out of Dean's way as he instantly started to slam all of his body weight into the door with as much force as he could, Deja making her way over to the barred windows.

"Dean! Hey, is that you?" Sam's faint voice came from inside.

"Sammy, you all right?" Dean asked, and Deja moved back to his side so she could clearly hear everything that was being said. Dean's phone started ringing, and he automatically put it on speaker so Deja could hear as well. "Tell me you slammed the front door."

"Dean! No, it wasn't me, I think it was the little girl."

"Girl? What girl?"

"Yeah, she's out of the painting. I think it might have been her all along."

"Wasn't Dad looking down at her? Maybe he was trying to warn us," Dean stated, pulling out his lock picking supplies and handing the phone off to Deja so he could focus.

"Hey, hey, hey, let's recap later, just get us out of here!"

"Well, I'm trying to pick the lock, but the door won't budge," Dean said evenly.

"Well, then, break it down."

"Okay, genius, let me grab my battering ram!" Dean snapped, giving up on picking the door and snatching the phone back from Deja.

"Dean, the damn thing is coming!"

"Well, you're gonna have to hold it off until I can figure something out. Get some salt or iron!"

"Okay, okay, so…it's the little girl, not the dad, but the little girl was cremated, so how is she still haunting the painting?" Deja rationalized while Dean tried the barred windows they knew were useless. At least the curtains were pulled back now so they could see inside. Sure enough, Deja could see the painting was missing a family member, and if she was closer she would have bet the razor was missing, too.

"I don't know, Deja, now is not the time for that," Dean grunted, pulling uselessly at the iron bars before making his way towards the door to try beating against it again. Deja stopped him.

"All you're going to do is beat up yourself, and yes, it's exactly the time for that, Dean. We can't get in, they can't get out, so either we do nothing or we figure out how to get rid of the child ghost inside. So if she was cremated, _how is she still haunting the painting_?"

"I don't _know_ damn it!" Dean snapped, taking the phone off speaker and pressing it to his ear. "Sam, are you okay?"

There was a pause while Sam answered, Dean and Deja walking the length of the wrap-around porch but coming up empty with a way in. "We're trying to figure out how to waste her, but we don't know how if she was already cremated." Dean paused as Sam answered again, grabbing Deja's arm and leading the two of them off the porch so they could survey the house as a whole. He seemed to be thinking of scaling to one of the upper rooms and opening a window. "Okay, something else, but _what_?"

As they stood between the house and the Impala, Dean's expression suddenly became intense, and he turned to Deja.

"Sam said the doll might have the girl's hair."

Deja grabbed his shoulders and shoved him towards the still-running car. "That counts as remains. You hall ass to the cemetery and go burn the doll, I'll keep trying to find a way to get them out. Go!"

* * *

Inside the house, Sam kept a firm grip on the poker that had made the little girl disappear in the first place, the only weapon they had as for whatever God-forsaken reason, the old woman hadn't kept any salt in the house. After waiting for a while for Dean to call and say he'd burned the remains or for the painting to return to normal, the lights had officially gone out and the wind had picked up again, the girl's giggling echoing through the entire house as he put himself between Sarah and where he expected the girl to appear, poker at the ready. For a few tense moments, nothing else happened, just wind, darkness, and unnerving childish laughter.

Then, suddenly, an entire antique desk that looked more like an upright piano flew across the room and pinned him to the wall, the poker flying out of his hand as he fell to the ground. The furniture pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe, but no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn't get it to budge.

Sarah dropped to her knees beside him, trying to help him move the desk as the wind picked up. "Sam! Sam, come on, come on!" she cried, pulling on the desk while he pushed. It still wouldn't budge. She turned around to look for something to help move it, and Sam's heart stopped when she found herself face to face with the little girl.

She didn't slit Sarah's throat, but instead tossed her across the room before slowly making her way towards her, razor in one hand, doll dragging across the floor in the other. Sam struggled harder to move the desk, but it still wasn't budging, and the ghost was getting closer, and Sarah wasn't getting up—

The lights suddenly surged in the room the same time a rapid serious of loud banging came from the window to the porch outside, Deja's muffled voice was heard outside, and the ghost turned away from Sarah towards the blonde hunter outside. Everyone's attention shifted to her as the surge from the lights ended and Deja stopped banging on the glass now that she clearly had the girl's attention. Deja's face, though it was hard to see from Sam's angle and distance away, seemed petrified as she stared at the little girl now walking towards her, but determined nonetheless. In the ghost's distraction, he was able to push the desk aside, reaching for the poker so he could get rid of the thing again, but before he could even get to his feet the ghost erupted in flames. When it disappeared, he looked back just in time to see the image of the girl reappear in the painting like she was being burned back into it, the entire image back to the way it was supposed to be.

Sam looked over at the window where Deja still stood, their shaken gazes meeting each other for a brief moment before Sam turned his attention back to Sarah. He kneeled down beside her, pulling her into a tight hug as she looked rather shaken herself, the two of them not needing to say a word.

He'd hardly had her in his arms a full minute before his cellphone rang again, and he answered it only because he registered it was his brother calling.

"Sam, you good?" Dean asked on the other side of the call.

Sam looked at Sarah, who only had a little blood coming from her lip from being thrown against the wall. "Not bad," he answered before he hung up and slumped against the wall, the adrenaline leaving him in a rush.

* * *

The next morning the four of them all stood in the auction house, watching as two workers packed the painting into a wooden box. Dean had a copy of a report in his hand, clearing his throat as he made his announcement.

"This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? Cause her real family was murdered in their beds."

"She killed them?" Sarah asked, glancing at the little girl in the white dress in the painting.

"Yeah, who'd suspect her? A sweet little girl. So then she kills Isaiah and his family, the old man takes the blame, his spirit's been trying to warn people ever since."

"Where's this one go?" one of the workers asked once they'd gotten a lid on the box.

"Take it out back and burn it," Sarah said promptly without missing a beat. Everyone stared at her, the three hunters included. "I'm serious, guys. Thanks."

After the workers were out of earshot, Sarah spoke again. "So, why'd the girl do it?"

"Who knows why someone kills their own family—and then others. Some people just turn dark without any warning," Deja murmured, watching the two men carry the portrait out back with furrowed brows and arms folded over her chest. Dean stared at her for a few moments, but it was only briefly as Sam spoke up.

"Some people are just born tortured," Sam stated.

"Nah, I don't think that's true—no one's _born_ bad, they _go_ bad," Deja corrected.

Dean heaved a sigh. "Maybe, I don't really care. It's over, we move on."

"Uh…" Sarah started to say, processing Dean's statement before she sighed as well. "I guess this means you're leaving."

Another sigh, this time from Sam, and then an awkward silence grew, Sam and Sarah gazing at each other while Dean and Deja stood awkwardly off to the side. Dean was the one to make an equally awkward escape.

"I'll go wait in the car," he said with a crisp nod.

"I'll go with you," Deja stated quickly, latching onto his arm to either follow or drag him away.

"See you, Sarah," Dean added before he started walking, pulling Deja along.

"Bye," Deja said, giving Sarah a small smile before she passed. A few antique paintings down the line, Dean grumbled under his breath.

"I'm the one who burned the doll and destroyed the spirit, but don't thank me or anything," He griped. Deja laughed, tightening her grip on his arm.

"Aww…you're a hero to me," Deja told him sweetly, leaning over to gently and briefly kiss his cheek. Dean blinked in surprise, having not expected the action as he turned his full attention to her.

"Well, that's one person," he mused, offering her a small smile as they left the auction house. When they were almost to the two cars parked a few paces from the entrance, Dean spoke up again. "Hey, what was with the whole…some people go dark without warning, thing? You got that look on your face when you said it," Dean asked, watching her.

Deja sighed and pulled away. "Dean—don't ruin the happy moment, all right? Let's end this case without any dark lingering thoughts or drama, hmm?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I was just asking," he muttered. Deja huffed, shaking her head.

"Okay…I already said I've seen some dark stuff in my time as a hunter. Let's just leave it at that and avoid the gruesome details," she relented, and Dean turned to look at her, squinting slightly against the sun.

"I can live with that," he said. They both looked up as the doors opened, watching as Sam started to leave with Sarah closing the door behind him with a crestfallen look on her face.

 _And he's still not going to make a move…_

Dean shook his head, pulling out his keys and getting ready to get in the Impala when suddenly he heard knocking on the auction house's door, and he looked up just in time to see Sarah open the doors and Sam pull her in for a deep kiss. A smile broke across Dean's face, and he felt a bubble of pride swell up in his chest.

"That's my boy."

Feeling like it was rude to watch them any longer, Dean looked over at Deja, expecting a smile of her own to be on her face. He was a little thrown off to see a bittersweet, faint smile gracing an expression that had more longing then happiness in it, and his own smile faltered. Glancing back at Sam and Sarah, it wasn't that hard to figure out what the longing was for.

 _Maybe this whole distance thing isn't just hard for me. But if it's hurting her, too, then why's she doing it?_

Deciding not to let her longing sink into anything darker, Dean reached out and put an arm around her, pulling her to his side and resting his head against hers. She molded to him instinctively and without any resistance, breathing him in as much as he did her, and feeling the tension slowly seep out of her at his embrace.

 _Much better._


	19. Chapter 18: Dead Man's Blood

_**Sorry this chapter took so long, guys, I had a rough time figuring out where one of the original scenes should go, and I didn't have much in mind for this episode, but it's one of those episodes I can't skip, since it's important to the show's storyline, haha**_  
 _ **But I muscled through, and now that the difficult part is over, I'm probably gonna hit the next several chapters out bang, bang, bang since we're where I've been dying to get to (So long as I don't have any unforeseeable problems *Cough* *Cough* Writers Block *Cough* *Cough* in the future)**_

* * *

When they had left upstate New York after the haunted painting, it had been roughly the beginning of July. Now, August was nearing, as it was several days before the end of the month, and after drifting between jobs with nothing to really go off of, they had found a possible case in Colorado. Sam had spotted the article, but Dean had been the one to see a connection between the victim and the Winchesters' father. So, with that realization, their group of three had made their way to Colorado to investigate the passing of a Daniel Elkins, whose cause of death was officially a bear attack despite signs of robbery.

Considering he was in John Winchester's journal, they all doubted a bear was what had mauled him in his own home.

That was how they ended up at a lone cabin in the woods in the dead of night, Sam picking the lock as Deja and Dean waited with flashlights.

Obviously, they had to get a good look at the home for themselves before anything else, see if there were any signs that normal local authorities would be ignorant of.

Deja followed Dean deeper into the cabin while Sam stayed near the front. Deja glanced in a few of the rooms, noting that they were all undisturbed while Dean headed in the opposite direction.

"Looks like the maid didn't come today," he announced for all of them to hear, and Deja doubled back to see the room his flashlight was shining into. Sure enough, this room actually showed the signs of an intrusion.

"Hey, there's salt over here, right inside the door," Sam called as Dean started looking through the mess of papers and journals on the desk right next to the door and Deja stepped deeper into the room.

"You mean like protects against a demon salt, or, uh, _oops I spilled the popcorn_ salt?" Dean asked, flipping open a worn journal on top of the mess of stuff on the desk. Deja crouched down closer to the opposite wall, running her fingers against the dried drops of crimson her flashlight had picked up on.

 _Blood, just a little…and probably not Elkins' blood._

"It's clearly a ring," Sam returned in answer to Dean's question. "You think this Elkins guy was a player?"

"Definitely," Dean and Deja said at the same time, earning a slightly startled glance from each other. Dean was still looking at the journal, and Deja at the blood on the ground, each of them having their own reasons for their definite answers. Dean didn't keep that eye contact long, however, turning his attention right back to the journal he was looking through.

Now Deja was curious.

Sam entered the room as Deja stood up, and they both came over to see what had Dean so focused, each peering over a respective shoulder down at the open pages of the journal.

"That looks a hell of a lot like Dad's," Sam eventually said.

"Except this dates back to the sixties," Dean murmured, flipping through a few more pages.

"He must have been a veteran hunter, then," Deja said quietly, shining her flashlight back over to the spot where she'd found the dried blood. "Whatever got him, he stuck it—there's dried blood over there on the floor, just a bit."

They searched the room a little longer, Dean continuing to flip through the old journal before joining them in moving onto the next space.

This room, despite the mess of the first, was the one that truly looked like a war zone, with the door busted open and a large bookcase spilled on its side, paper and boxes, lamps, random chunks of wood, and _stuff_ in general littering the entire floor, as well as a healthy—well, _un_ healthy—dose of blood. The wind outside could be heard clearly in here, and the gust seemed to be coming inside, ruffling papers and Deja's hair. They all looked up at the sound to see the broken skylights, and a thoughtful frown pulled the corners of Deja's mouth down.

"Whatever attacked him, there was more than one," Sam assessed as their flashlight beams swept the room again.

"Looks like he put up a hell of a fight, too," Dean added.

"Yeah…" Sam said, voice low before the three of them fanned out around the room. Sam started going through the mess of things on the desk while doing his best to avoid touching the blood, Dean started making his way across the room with glass crunching underneath his feet, and Deja again took up the far end, looking for anything that had scattered to the edge of the room in the fight.

Dean suddenly crouched down, fingers brushing against something on the ground.

"Got something?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. Some scratches on the floor," Dean replied thoughtfully.

Sam and Deja both approached him, aiming their flashlights to the spot Dean was crouched in front of. "Death throes, maybe?" Sam suggested.

"Yeah…maybe."

As Dean got up to grab a piece of paper and a pencil in the mess of the room, Deja shifted closer to get a better look at the scratches. "Looks too…well, precise to be death throes. Death throes are random, this was made with a purpose."

"That's what I'm thinking," Dean responded, crouching down to start getting a rubbing of the scratches, much like one would do on old gravestones. When it was done he peeled the paper off of the floor, enough blood on that spot it stuck to the floor and left blood on the back of the paper. They didn't pay the blood any mine, however, because they were too busy looking at what Dean's rubbing had revealed. "It may be a message."

Sam, who had moved to look up at the shattered skylights again, stepped closer as Dean handed the paper to him. "Look familiar?" Dean asked.

Sam studied the paper for a split second before speaking. "Three letters, six digits. The location and combination of a post office box...it's a mail drop."

"That's just the way Dad does it," Dean added as Deja rose to her feet.

"Whatever's at the drop, we should find it. It has to be important if this Elkins guy spent his last minutes carving a mail drop into the floor."

* * *

They went to the post office together—and by together, she meant sharing the same car, her Corvette parked safely somewhere it wouldn't be bothered—so that they would be less conspicuous, the boys going inside to pick up whatever was in the post office while Deja remained in the back seat of the Impala. It didn't take them long, and when they returned they were both wearing matching frowns, a simple white envelope in Dean's hands. Once they were all in the Impala again, Dean held it out where everyone could see, Deja leaning forwards and propping her arms up on the front seat to get a clear view.

"J.W….You think? John Winchester?" Sam asked as Dean held the envelope almost hesitantly in front of all of them, clearly unsure of how to treat this. More and more connections to John were showing up on this case, and the more that showed up the more _wrong_ it felt for them to be working this case instead of John.

At least Deja felt that way.

"I don't know. Should we open it?" Dean asked. No sooner had the words left Dean's lips was there a knock on the driver's door window, causing all three hunters to jump in alarm and reach for weapons.

The face smiling at the boys was the last face she expected to see. Though considering the connections popping up with the case, she shouldn't have been as surprised.

"Dad?" Dean asked before John opened the door to the back seat, and Deja slid over to make room for the senior Winchester, still surprised to see him.

"Dad, what are you doing here? Are you all right?" Sam asked as John got settled. Deja suddenly found herself feeling like the…fourth wheel of an unexpected family reunion.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Look, I read the news about Daniel, I got here as fast as I could."

Deja blinked while Sam and Dean shared a surprised look. She was pretty sure her train of thought was along a different vein than Sam and Dean's, though.

 _This guy dies, you high tail it from who knows where to find out what happened to him. All this crap happens with your two sons, and the only time you surface is when they think they might have a lead on the demon that killed their mother…why do I see something wrong with this picture?_

John finally spared her a look when his gaze passed over the three of them as a whole with his next words, eyes lingering on her for a moment as if he was thinking of going off point to say something to her before he continued addressing all of them. "I saw you three up at his place."

Sam frowned. "Why didn't you come in, Dad?"

"You know why. Because I had to make sure you weren't followed," John said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. "By anyone…or anything. Nice job of covering your tracks, by the way."

"Yeah, well, we learned from the best," Dean replied, the pride obvious in his tone.

 _Well, those two learned from you—my training came from elsewhere._

"Wait, so you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?" Sam asked incredulously. Deja was just glad she wasn't the one who was starting to voice it, since that wasn't her place.

 _Don't insert yourself into their family drama, you're the outsider who's only been here so long._

"Yeah. He was…he was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting," John replied.

"You never mentioned him to us," Sam said.

"We had a…we had kind of a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years."

 _That doesn't make it any better._

"I should look at that," John said, gesturing to the letter still clutched in Dean's hands before anyone could ask any more questions. After John had opened the letter, he started to read it aloud. "If you're reading this, I'm already dead…that son of a bitch."

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"He had it the whole time."

"Dad, what?" Sam stressed.

"When you searched the place, did ya-did you see a gun? An antique, a colt revolver, did you see it?" John asked intently, looking between the three of them.

"Uh, there was an old case, but it was empty," Dean informed him. John cursed under his breath.

"They have it."

"You mean whatever killed Elkins?" Dean asked. John completely ignored their questions, moving to get out of the car.

"We got to pick up the trail."

"Wait. You want us to come with you?" Sam asked in surprise, leaning over to look at their dad, who was now out of the car and leaning on the windowsill on the driver's side. Deja didn't move closer, but remained leaning back behind Sam's seat, watching the Winchesters quietly.

"If Elkins is telling the truth, we've got to find this gun," John told his boys.

"The gun? Why?" Sam asked.

"Because it's important, that's why," John snapped.

"Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet," Sam argued.

"They were what Danny Elkins killed best. Vampires."

"Vampires?" Dean echoed, surprise written across his face. "I thought there was no such thing?"

"You never even mentioned them, Dad," Sam added with disbelief.

 _I think I've only chanced upon a vampire once, so…I can see how some people would think they didn't exist._

"I thought they were extinct," John answered his boys. "I thought Elkins and others had wiped them out. I was wrong."

Sam and Dean shared a look, and while they had their moment of silent communication, John's gaze finally slid to settle on Deja in her dark corner of the car. "So, you're still with them?" John asked.

"Yes sir, I am," Deja answered with calm confidence.

"Huh," was all John said in answer. At least for now.

 _I'm getting the feeling he does not like me, for whatever reason._

* * *

When they checked into the motel for this particular hunting trip, they still only got two rooms despite John joining them for the hunt, the brothers' father wanting to room with them. Deja's spirits dipped slightly at the news, as she didn't exactly feel…comfortable or welcome around John, which meant she wasn't going to be spending free time in the boys' room with them like she usually did. Of course, she didn't say anything about it—he was there father, who was she to intrude like that?

She didn't unpack—she simply threw a bag on the bed and headed over to the Winchesters' room, expecting John to brief them on what they knew before they fell into coming up with a game plan for at least the next day.

Stepping through, Sam and Dean were getting set up on the beds while John stoically claimed a small space on the couch near the desk. Sam and Dean both smiled when she entered, relaxing slightly when her presence registered with them, though John only glanced her over, his eyes calculating, sizing her up.

Something she was pretty sure she'd have to endure for a while.

"So, Floy," John said suddenly, drawing Deja's attention from the boys and towards him instead. "I thought, when Sam and Dean told me about you, that your name was familiar, so I did some digging while I was away."

Deja remained calm outwardly, but in her mind numerous things flashed before her eyes of information he could have found if he looked hard enough that could lead this conversation in nasty directions, and she didn't like how many secrets came to the forefront of her mind, especially the number of secrets she didn't want the _other_ two occupants of the room to discover.

Remaining calm—there was no point to freak out ahead of time, since doing so would give away that she _did_ have something to hide if John either didn't have anything or didn't have anything she considered bad—she stayed silent to let John know that he could continue.

"You were the Floy that was with a hunter by the name of Reid Thurston, on his last hunt," John said, holding her gaze. Deja felt ice go down her spine, and she stiffened involuntarily.

"Yeah, that was me," she said steadily. She did not like where this was going. It was too close to one of her secrets…

"He was a good…seasoned hunter. You're the only one who knows what happened, how he died and all. Especially since you burned his body," John said casually, stepping closer. Deja didn't move forwards or backwards, but stayed where she was standing, feeling Sam and Dean's gazes on both of them. She didn't turn to see if they were wary, concerned, cautious, upset, none of it, but kept her gaze locked with John so he didn't have an excuse to see her as shifty.

"Of course I burned his body, I gave him a hunter's funeral—and I was his partner for roughly a year before that. It's not exactly something I like to talk about, but as much as we'd all like to pretend if you've been doing the job a long time you're invincible, things still go wrong, even if you're seasoned. Things went wrong. He died, I didn't, and after he died I went back to solo hunting," Deja returned evenly. John didn't miss a beat.

"Not only did I find that, but I found the case, about what happened to you, and your family."

Deja instantly tensed, her switch flipping automatically as she went into a full defensive mode. Dean spoke up behind her, and she heard him move closer.

"Dad—" he started to protest, but John talked over him.

"How does one thirteen-year-old who's never come across anything supernatural hold off two satanic witches, especially with a fire that burns through a house that fast, so fast it had the firefighters shocked there was hardly anything left when they arrived not long after it started. And why do you insist you were the only survivor, if there were bodies found for your parents and even your dog…but not you _or_ your brother."

Dean had looked like he was on the edge of protesting again throughout John's entire speech, stepping even closer to Deja, and Sam had moved as well, which let Deja know he was ready to join his brother in that defense. But at John's words it grew quiet. The pair only stared each other down for several long, _long_ moments before Deja spoke, her voice soft but firm.

"If you must know, my brother wasn't on the best of terms with my family at the time and wasn't staying with us—he wasn't there when it happened. They killed him first, somewhere else." Deja studied John for a moment, then continued, deciding she had to stop this now before it grew anymore, because she was _not_ going to put up with John Winchester's apparent Alpha Male attitude. "You know, I get that I am an unknown traveling with your sons at a dangerous time, I can get that you want to protect them, but don't you _dare_ start to think for one moment that I answer to you. And don't think that you have a right to dig up things in my past and treat me as a suspect, because you sure as _hell_ don't. You weren't there when my family was killed _or_ when Reid died, so you can't stand there and try to judge me when you don't even know what happened, simply cause you want to intimidate me."

Now Deja moved, and she moved to stand face to face with John, letting him see up close the seriousness of her expression, and how much she meant every word. "I watched my family die, right in front of me, so believe me when I say you do not scare me, John." She didn't give John a chance to continue his investigation in case he had more, or for Sam or Dean to interfere, but instead ended it herself, turning her head enough to show she was speaking only to Sam and Dean but not enough to meet their gazes. "If you need anything, I'll be next door unpacking," she said in a slightly clipped tone, turning her back on all three before she left the room, silently fuming inside.

He knew nothing.

 _Nothing_.

Of the hell she'd seen.

* * *

Once Deja left, Dean found himself, surprisingly, turning on his father, pointing towards the door that had just swung loudly shut behind Deja, not enough to be a slam, however. She'd been too controlled for that much emotion to show, to icy and distant.

She wasn't about to show emotion when she flipped that switch Dean hadn't seen since the human hunters had almost killed him.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked, a note of anger in his voice as he stared down his father. He felt out of his depth and exposed, out of place, but he was too upset to really take note of it at the moment.

"She's too shady, Dean, I don't like how little is known about her. She keeps herself distant from hunters as a whole, and not just after what happened with Reid Thurston. Her getting so close to you two, especially right now, when she's only show interest in hunting with others once before and that one other ended up dead—I don't like it," John said dismissively, as if that answered everything.

Dean, however, bristled, his anger mounting.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with her having secrets, Dad, everyone has secrets, _especially_ in this line of business," Dean snapped, thinking of the few times they'd brushed on the topics John had just poked at with a jackhammer, and how emotional she'd gotten when they'd simply glanced across those subjects. His expression darkened even more, his voice hardening as he felt his contained anger mounting. "She's saved our lives, Dad, both of our lives, and saved yours too back in Chicago, in case you've forgotten. She's been right here for us at times when you _should_ have been there. That _shady_ woman you just attacked was willing to try and pry me out of the grip of a reaper she couldn't see with her bare hands and was with me every step of the way while I was _dying_ , when you couldn't even be bothered to answer the damn phone. So _back off_."

Before he could _really_ get going, Dean turned and followed Deja's path out of the room, heading straight to the door not five paces from theirs but pausing long enough to run a hand down his face and take a few breathers. Her door was open, for once, just a crack, almost like she expected or hoped someone would chase after her. Once Dean had a firm grasp on his emotions again, he pushed the door open, stepping quietly inside.

She had her back to him, her duffel on her bed, though knowing her he was pretty sure she knew he was there. He came up behind her, coming close enough to see that she was currently pulling out her always-on-hand bottle of tequila. Gently, he pressed up against her as he reached around her to put his hand over hers and push the bottle back into the duffel.

"It's a little early for rough day drinking, don't you think?" Dean asked, and Deja sighed, shaking her head but offering him no answer. Dean watched her closely before continuing to speak. "Listen…I know my dad can be a bit of a hard ass—"

"Dean, you don't have to apologize for your father," Deja told him, cutting him off. Dean shook his head.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't. He's just protecting his sons, I get it," she replied softly, pulling away. Dean sighed, letting the breath out his nose as if mustering patience.

"Well, he hasn't been here, and he may not trust you, but I do," Dean stated, pausing long enough for her to turn and face him from where she stood about two steps in front of him. Then he continued. "Sam and I, we're the ones who've been around you all this time, and though I don't know _everything_ about you, I know enough to trust you with my life—with _our_ lives. Dad coming in and digging stuff up because he doesn't know or trust you isn't going to change that, and I'm sorry if he continues to be this way. It's just how he is."

Dean closed the distance between the two of them, pulling her into a hug so she would _know_ how serious he was about this, arms wrapping instinctively around her as he guided her head to rest against his chest with a gentle hand on the back of her head. "Stubborn old man he may be, none of his antics are gonna change what I know."

 _Or feel._

He didn't say that last part, but he did lean in and gently kiss the top of her head, letting his lips linger and savoring the moment as long as he respectfully could.

"Thank you," she murmured into his chest.

"Thank you for sticking with us," Dean returned, resting his chin atop her head and keeping her in his embrace.

He didn't bring up the new bits of information he'd just learned about her in his father's sudden assault of questioning, figuring there was a lot more to the stories they didn't know and deciding not to speculate on them lest he find himself jumping to conclusions. He knew her, he trusted her, and right now, he just wanted to hold her. At least until he was sure she wouldn't need to turn to her emergency stash anymore. Cause if she'd been turning to that bottle of tequila, then what his father had brought up had stung deeper than she was willing to admit, and he didn't like the thought of her hurting because of someone in his family.

* * *

Already off to a rocky start, Deja could tell that this hunt wasn't going to be pleasant, or that it would at least have a lot of tension on the social spectrum. Usually she hunted so well with Sam and Dean, enjoyed herself, but now that John was here…

She was woken up when light was just starting to pierce through the dark of night, Dean coming over half asleep to inform her that their father had heard something over the police radios that sounded like the vampires and they were all going to check it out. Sam and Dean had already been briefed by John on the general need to know lore about vampires, Deja sitting that family meeting out since she'd run into vampires before and already knew what he was telling them. Now, hopefully, they were officially on the trail.

Of course, it seemed they weren't privy to seeing this trail up close, as John seemed to have seized complete control of this hunt as soon as he came on it, and now Sam, Dean, and Deja were all waiting for John to finish talking to the local authorities and scoping the crime scene, all of them a little cranky for being up so early, and Sam seeming a little more annoyed than the rest of them.

"I don't see why we couldn't have gone over with him," Sam muttered, drawing Dean's attention. An exasperated expression crossed his face.

"Oh, don't tell me it's already starting."

"What's starting?" Sam asked, his tone slightly clipped.

It seemed Deja's short spat with John wasn't going to be the only drama during this hunt.

 _Great_.

Dean turned away from Sam instead of answering, turning his attention to their father as he approached the three he'd made stay behind. Deja hung back a little further, noticeably distancing herself from the three Winchesters.

She didn't want to step on someone's toes and cause more drama—she didn't need to add to the friction that was already between the three, so she'd do her best just to fly under the radar, stay out of their way.

"Whaddya got?" Dean asked John, effectively dodging Sam's question.

"It was them all right. Looks like they're heading west. We're gonna have to double back to get around that detour."

"How can you be so sure?" Sam asked almost as soon as John was done talking.

"Sam…" Dean said tiredly.

"I just want to know we're going in the right direction," Sam shot back, tone clipped.

"We are," John said shortly.

"How do you know?" Sam repeated. He wasn't about to budge.

John looked mildly annoyed, though that might have only been because he was keeping his expression controlled, reaching into his pocket to pull out a tooth.

A vampire tooth.

"I found this," John said, letting Dean take it from his hands so he could look at it.

"It's a…vampire fang," Dean said in surprise.

"Not fangs, teeth—the second set descends when they attack," John corrected him. He looked back at Sam. "Anymore questions?" he asked, tone clipped a little more noticeably than Sam's had been. Sam didn't reply, his silence serving as his answer as his jaw clenched.

At least John had told him how he knew they were on the right track.

"All right…let's get out of here, we're losing daylight," John told them, already making his way to the truck that sat parked behind the Impala. "And Dean, why don't you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn't have given you the damn thing if I thought you were gonna ruin it."

Deja blinked, taken aback just as much as Dean seemed to be as she gave the 67 Impala a good once over. "What do you mean, _ruin_ it, she's in beautiful shape, especially considering most of the cars this old have ended up falling apart in forgotten junkyards," she countered, though of course John was already in the truck and didn't hear what she said. It didn't matter what he heard, though, cause what mattered was what the Impala's owner heard—Dean. She sighed, shaking her head and looking back over at him. "She's a beauty, Dean, seriously," she told him sincerely before making her way to her own car in the way back of their line-up and waiting to follow after them for the coming search for the vampire nest.

 _This part might take a while._

* * *

Deja wasn't in the Impala while they searched for the vampire trail, so unlike Dean, she wasn't aware of the steady growth of the fire that was the drama between Sam and John. Like John, however, she was not expecting what Sam did, and honestly, it would have turned out far worse if she hadn't had quick reflexes and good brakes.

The car in the lead, the Impala, which Sam was driving, suddenly swung onto its side, blocking the road. Being behind John's huge truck in her low riding Corvette, she didn't see that happen, and had to react to John's reaction, almost crashing into his truck and swinging the Corvette almost ninety degrees to _avoid_ crashing her Rosanne into the monster truck in front of her.

The chain reaction Sam's move caused was almost instantaneous, everyone seeming to get out of their cars at once.

"What the hell, Sam!" Deja asked as she approached, adrenaline still coursing through her from the near-crash. However, her upset nature was quickly overshadowed by John's anger, and Sam's as well as the youngest Winchester seemed to be solely focused on John.

"What the hell was that," John growled while Dean warningly called out to Sam. Apparently, there was an explosion in progress, and she'd come very near to stepping right in it.

"We need to talk," Sam snapped as Deja instinctively stepped closer to the Winchester _not_ involved in this spat—Dean.

"About what?" John asked, tone rather threatening.

"About _everything_ ," Sam returned sharply, undaunted by his shorter but no less threatening father. "Where are we going, Dad, what's the big deal about this gun?"

"Sammy, come on, we can Q and A after we kill all the vampires," Dean tried, stepping closer to the two that stood toe to toe in a now visible battle of wills.

"Your brother's right, we don't have time for this," John said flatly. Sam wasn't buying it—he didn't even glance at Dean.

"The last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous to be together. Now, out of the blue, you need our help. No, obviously something big is going down, and we want to know what!" Sam shouted. John only looked at him with an expression that could be considered as bitter amusement.

"Get back in the car," John said lowly.

"No," Sam answered in clear defiance. John took a step closer.

"I said get back in the damn car."

"Yeah. And I said _no_."

It was official. Adding John to Sam and Dean was like adding kerosene to a fire. No, worse than that—gun powder. Gun powder, because Sam and Dean already tended to act like kerosene with one another on occasion, and now it was like John's mere presence was throwing fistfuls of gun powder into the situation to create random fireballs.

Dean did his best to put out that current fire.

"All right, you made your point, tough guy. Look, we're all tired, we can talk about this later. Sammy," Dean said shortly and almost desperately, grabbing a fistful of Sam's jacket and _pushing_ his brother towards the Impala to get him away from John before the fight turned to blows, which was where it looked like it was going. "I mean it, come on."

"This is why I left in the first place," Sam muttered.

"What'd you say?" John asked, voice still full of some unspoken threat every parent seemed to own, but more intense.

"You heard me," Sam snapped, whipping around.

"Yeah, _you_ left. Your brother and me, we needed you. You walked away, Sam, _you_ walked away!" John returned, voice finally raising into a shout. Dean seemed exasperated to be dragged into the subject, but Deja was more concerned that both John and Sam seemed to be rapidly descending towards a physical fight.

"Stop it, both of you!" Dean yelled.

"You're the one who said don't come back, Dad. You're the one who closed that door, not me!" Sam shot back. "You were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!"

"Listen, stop it, stop it, _both of you_!" Dean shouted, forcing himself between the two when John finally grabbed Sam's jacket to do something, Deja moving forward instinctively as well but having to make a conscious effort not to insert herself in their family drama. Not this, not when it involved John. "Stop it, stop it, that's enough!"

Dean stood firmly between the two, his back to Sam as he held John off, breathing a little heavy. "That means you too," he told John, staring his father down.

Without a word, Sam suddenly turned and got back into the Impala, and as soon as the door shut John turned and made his way back to the truck. Dean glanced between them, throwing his hands up in surrender.

"Terrific," he muttered, turning to make his way to the passenger's side of the Impala again and almost running into Deja in the process. "Whoa…sorry."

"It's okay," Deja told him softly, clasping his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze of comfort before she let her hand drop away and headed for the Corvette.

No need to do any more than that in front of John—he was already watching her close enough for being around his boys as a hunting partner, she didn't need him breathing down her neck because she showed interest in his eldest son, too.

* * *

When they finally found the vampire's next in the middle of the day the next day, they spent a little time scoping the old barn out before retreating to where they'd parked their three cars safely away from the nest. Once there, they started equipping the weapons they might need, the machetes a definite must, though Deja kept her gun on her and added a few wicked knives to her person just in case.

"Hey Dad, I've got an extra machete if you need one," Dean called, offering said machete to their father, who was looking in a lockbox in the back of his truck.

"I think I'm okay, thanks," John answered, pulling out a long, shining machete. Deja had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

She felt like she was standing near a bunch of men comparing package sizes like alpha males deciding dominance.

 _Uhg_.

"Wow…" Dean said as he took in the weapon, though Deja didn't give it a second look, securing her machete to her waist.

She'd go for her durable, weathered machete over some flashy high-end machete.

Not that she was judging…consciously.

"So…you boys really want to know about this colt?" John asked after a few moments of silence, catching everyone's attention.

"Yes, sir," Sam said stiffly after a moment of silence. John looked at Deja.

"Do you mind?" he asked, not nearly as rudely as he could have.

Deja held up a hand in defense. "Don't worry I'm moving. Twenty paces enough?" she asked sarcastically, trying to keep from too much attitude coming through as she made her way far enough away from the group she couldn't hear what the Winchesters were saying. She folded her arms over her chest, keeping her back to them for added effect as she simply looked around at the woods around her, at the trees and the sunlight streaming through the trees, the dirt beneath her boots…

Eventually, the three Winchesters finished talking about whatever it was that was so special about the colt, and Sam and John started making their way on foot back to the barn while Dean called her over. When she reached him, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to his side so he could murmur into her ear.

"I'll tell you later," he promised before pulling away to a respectable distance. Deja nodded, following after him as they made their way to the nest.

They found a way in through a window in the barn, pulling themselves up to the window and dropping silently down onto the haybales stacked inside under the window.

An interior design flaw on the part of the vampires.

Deja was the last one in, so she quietly shut the two door window behind them, climbing down to stand between Sam and Dean as they took in the spattering of hammocks hanging in the barn, each hammock holding a vampire, and each vampire fast asleep. John had already disappeared to look for the gun, so Deja, Dean, and Sam were left to explore the nest and see if there was anyone they needed to rescue.

Carefully, the three made their way through the collection of hammocks, slowly starting to separate to go in different directions. Sam ended up ahead of them, and Deja remained a few steps behind Dean before she suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Dean by the shoulder and yanking him back before he bumped one of the hammocks. He turned to protest—maybe not vocally, but still—and Deja pressed a finger to his lips to keep him quiet.

 _Careful_ , she mouthed before walking past him and ducking low to avoid bumping the hammock herself.

"Dean, Deja," they suddenly heard Sam say softly, catching their attention and causing them to head his way. Tied to a post in the barn and fast asleep was what looked like a captive, perhaps one of the couple that had been kidnapped. She had blood on her, but Deja didn't see any marks.

She didn't like that.

"There's more," Dean whispered, gesturing to a pen on their left and moving to help them while Sam worked on the bonds of the woman tied to the post. "There's a whole bunch in here," Dean whispered into her ear before turning his full attention back to the pen. Deja glanced between the pen and the woman tied to the post while Dean went to bust the door right off the hinges. The hinges were rusted enough it would be simple, their concern was with whether or not it would make a noise loud enough to rouse the vampires in the room.

"If their captives are in there, why's she out here?" Deja murmured back, inclining her head to the rousing woman Sam was untying a split second before he busted the first hinge off. They all froze, gazes immediately jumping towards the hammocks to see if the sound had startled any of the vampires awake.

No, they were still in the clear.

"Hey, hey, shhh," Sam suddenly whispered, and Deja looked back at the woman tied to the post as she seemed to finally be coming awake. "We're here to help."

And that was when she turned her head enough for Deja to see the dried blood smeared over her mouth.

 _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…_

"Sam, no!" Deja hissed, but it was too late. The woman was awake.

"No!" the woman shrieked before descending into a cacophony of sounds with an inhuman voice.

Well, if the vampires hadn't been waking up with the noise they were making before, they were going to wake now.

That thought had hardly even finished crossing her mind before she realized her machete was already in hand, grabbing Dean's shoulder and tugging him from the pen.

"Sam!" Dean called, as the barn was now a flurry of activity and silence was no longer necessary.

"We have to go, we'll get them another time," Deja told him, rushing over and grabbing the corner of Sam's jacket to get him moving as well.

"Dad," Dean said before they could get too far, turning to head back for their father.

"Boys, run!" came John's voice just in the nick of time, and like they were triggered by some magic word, they bolted, Deja wedged between Sam and Dean as they sprinted out the barn, this time right through the front door since there was a nest of vampires between them and the window they had initially come through.

Once they were through the front door, they didn't stop until they were back with the cars, all three of them catching their breath once they'd finally come to a standstill.

Dean whipped around when their number remained three, gaze searching the woods for John. "Dad? Dad!" he called, though to his apparent relief, John appeared a few moments later, slowing down as he reached the trees. Sam and Dean moved to head to the car, most likely to peel out of there, but John stopped them.

"They won't follow, they'll wait till tonight. Once a vampire gets your scent, it's for life," John told them.

"Well what the hell do we do now?" Dean asked.

"You've got to find the nearest funeral home, that's what," John said seriously, and Dean looked taken aback, maybe even a little insulted.

 _Don't worry, it's not as bad as it sounds._

* * *

They waited until night to act. Their plan took some preparations, and Dean and Deja had to make a run to the funeral home for some dead man's blood, but soon John, Sam, and Deja were all waiting silently under cover of the trees up a hill. Down below, Dean stood in clear view of them, working on his Impala—or at least pretending to work on it.

He was the bait, and they were the trap.

Sure enough, a woman approached him—not a woman she'd seen in the barn, though by the way John suddenly tensed, she was pretty sure it was one of the vampires they were hunting for.

The two exchanged maybe three sentences, and the woman—no, vampire—backhanded Dean with enough force to send Dean to the ground. She grabbed him by the jaw, lifting him up into the air as a second vampire appeared to flank her. Deja stayed as relaxed as she could, refusing to let the sight below rile her and have her act too soon.

She cared for Dean, deeply, but that didn't mean she couldn't keep her head clear and focus on the job when he was around. That caring wasn't about to take away from her ability to do her job.

Deja took a deep breath and looked down the crossbow she had held ready to fire, taking her time to aim it at the vampire that had a strong grip on Dean. John was also armed with a crossbow, though it wouldn't do them any good to both shoot at the vampire holding Dean, so he was aiming at her accomplice.

The vampire suddenly lowered Dean, crushing her lips to his. Deja scowled, tensing, but her finger stayed steady despite the look John gave her, and it didn't pull the trigger prematurely because she saw a vampire kiss Dean.

There was no reason for John to scold her or anything, because she was in control, even with Dean in danger—but that was his _job_ right now, to be the bait, to put himself in danger, and she knew she had to wait for the right moment, and she _could_ wait because she trusted Dean.

The vampire pulled away from Dean, and from the corner of her eyes Deja saw John give the silent signal, and they simultaneously pulled the triggers of the crossbows, the arrows flying through the air to impale both vampires.

The vampire that had been flanking the female vampire went to his knees almost immediately, though when Sam, John, and Deja all made it to the road below, the female vampire was still standing, looking mildly annoyed. John and Deja had already pulled out their machetes, crossbows held loosely at their sides as they approached Dean and the female vampire.

"Barely even stings," the female said in a falsely sweet voice, and John gave her an equally fake smile.

"Give it time, sweetheart. Arrow's soaked in dead man's blood," John informed her, the smile instantly vanishing from her face. Sam took up a position by the other vampire, holding his machete at the ready in case the vampire tried anything. "It's like poison to you, isn't it?"

John had hardly finished speaking when the woman suddenly swooned, falling backwards into Dean's waiting arms as consciousness started to rapidly leave her.

"Load her up—I'll take care of this one," John told them, waving his machete at the second vampire. Nobody argued, Deja following after Dean with Sam close behind.

* * *

Deja waited in her car while the Winchesters talked.

She'd been with them while they discussed dusting their clothes to hide their scent and their plan for Dean, Sam, and Deja to clean out whatever vampires were left at the nest and rescue the vampires' prisoners while John made a trade with the leader for the gun. However, when they'd started to talk about what came after…well, Deja could feel the tension growing, and she'd decided to give them space to have their discussion and talk freely, since John wasn't going to be willing to talk in front of her like Sam and Dean were.

It was clear when they were done talking, because John tied up the female vampire securely before putting her in his truck and driving away. When he was gone, Dean approached her Corvette, getting in on the passenger's side and looking over at her in the darkness.

"We're waiting for that stuff to burn, then we'll dust up and head out," he told her. Deja turned her head to look at him, as she was reclined in her seat with her head leaning back.

"So now we wait," Deja acknowledged, giving a small nod.

Dean leaned over, resting one of his elbows on the seat. "You know, about this colt…"

"Dean, you don't need to tell me, really," Deja assured him, looking away already.

"I want to."

Deja turned back to him, lips parting instinctively to answer but remaining in a surprised little _o_. Dean smiled slightly at her reaction, taking her silence as his cue to keep speaking as he leaned forward a little more.

"The gun that our dad's after can kill anything, at least it's supposed to. Dad wants to use it to kill the demon that killed our mom."

"It what?" Deja asked, sitting up, much more alert now. "I've never heard of anything like that!"

"Well, once we have it I'm guessing Dad will do something to make sure the legends are true. He isn't going to go up against this demon without knowing for sure it really _does_ kill anything."

"So, after this hunt...you'll all be going after the demon?" Deja asked, voice suddenly slightly timid.

Dean grew quiet, shaking his head and leaning back in the seat. "No...he wants to go after the demon alone, says he's afraid we'll get hurt or we'll slow him down. Bunch of bullshit, if you ask me, considering he knows the kind of jobs we've been working."

Deja watched Dean for a few moments as he simply stared out into the darkness ahead of them. Clearly whatever conversation the Winchesters had while she was waiting in the car had upset him. "He wants us to move on without him after we clear the nest, doesn't he? _Not_ meet up with him when we're done."

"Yeah, pretty much," Dean muttered.

Deja studied him a little longer before she finally spoke again. "Might I respectfully suggest that you ignore that order, considering we don't know how many of the vampires will go to that trade and he could end up in trouble."

"That's what I've been thinking…Sam, too," Dean replied. "After we clear the nest, we're gonna go where they are cause he might need us."

"And after?" Deja pressed gently.

"We can't do much about after. If he wants to leave, he'll leave," Dean answered with a shake of his head. Deja nodded.

"Well, at least if he does go, I'll still be around."

"Yeah…you will," Dean agreed, turning to look at her again. "And I'm glad that you'll still be here."

Deja held his gaze, smiling softly at him in the darkness before Dean leaned in a little more, eyes unwavering from her own. "Deja…" he said quietly in a tone that sent a thrill down her spine.

 _No._

"Dean," she returned, though she said it in a way that he would know she was shining a spotlight on that _line_ , eyebrows raising. Dean sighed, searching her eyes intently for some sign that she _did_ want him to press forward. He slowly licked his lips, casting his gaze down.

"I wish—"

A knock on the car interrupted him, both of them breaking the moment between them as they turned to see Sam approaching with a handful of ash.

Their sign that they were out of time.

"C'mon, guys, we've got to go—clear out that nest before Dad's done with that trade," Sam said, and within moments they were out of the car.

Even if they were a little reluctant to leave. Deja wanted to know what Dean had been about to say, and of course, Dean had wanted to say it.

* * *

The barn was practically empty when Sam, Dean, and Deja arrived. Which meant that most of the nest had gone to where John was at trying to make his trade.

Which also meant that for all his bravado, he was in danger, and they needed to clear the barn quickly but still efficiently so they could make it back to the oldest Winchester.

They came in at different points, one of them through the same window as before, one of them found a way in the back, and Sam made a little noise by the door to draw out anyone standing around that general area. Deja had taken the way back, and she quietly worked her way back to the front, only coming across two or three unsuspecting vampires before she reached Dean in the main room, back by the pen of hostages.

"Clear," she told him, and he nodded, turning to the pen and pulling out his pocket knife.

"I told you I'd come back," he told the semi-conscious people within, and as soon as he popped the last hinge off they were both inside the pen tearing duct tape off mouths and cutting the ropes that kept them all bound. One by one they ushered the dazed hostages out of the barn towards Sam, who was telling them where to go, giving those in the worst of shape the keys to the only car that remained outside—once Dean had found them, of course—and making sure someone who was completely lucid was behind the wheel.

They did one last quick sweep of the barn before meeting up with Sam again outside, and without a word having to be spoken between the three of them they high tailed it towards the rendezvous point where John was going to make the trade.

Once they saw light through the trees they parked and pulled out their weapons, Dean grabbing his crossbow while Deja and Sam stuck to machetes, racing through the woods to try and catch the vampires off guard if John didn't have the situation under control.

When they finally saw the scene through the trees, it came into view just in time for all of them to see what was probably the leader throw John into the truck, a showering of glass echoing through the immediate area when the action smashed the window on the driver's side. John didn't get back up, and the lead vampire started making his way over to where John had fallen when Dean raised the crossbow from their spot in the trees and fired, nailing one of the vampires right through the chest.

The vampires immediately moved into a flurry, Sam rushing to defend John while Dean paused to shoot another vampire through the chest. Before Sam even reached the road, the leader was in his way, knocking him to the ground. Seeing that Sam was vulnerable, Deja launched herself his way, putting her head down and full on tackling the vampire that was descending on him before he could grab Sam and knocking him to the ground. She rolled to her feet while he snapped back up, pulling the machete from its spot on her side and swiftly positioning herself between the vampire and Sam, who was getting back to his feet as well. The vampire went to lunge at her but found her blade between them, eyes hard as she angled it towards his neck. He glared at her, moving as if to step around her and get to Sam, but she stepped into his path, blade still pointed at him.

"Don't even try it," Deja told the vampire flatly, seeing Dean aim the crossbow at the leader out of the corner of her eye while Sam retrieved his fallen machete, pointing it in warning towards the drugged up vampire that was the leader's mate to warn her off as well. The leader sneered at Deja.

"You people…why can't you just leave us alone? We have as much a right to live as you do," he said angrily, and Deja felt a flicker of sympathy.

 _If they hadn't killed people…I'd be inclined to let them go._

"I don't think so," came a gruff voice from near John's truck, and they all looked in time to see John aim the antique gun that Deja guessed was the colt at the leader and squeeze the trigger, getting the vampire right between the eyes.

Everyone watching—including the vampire's mate and one of the vampires that must have been waiting in one of the cars parked opposite John's since she just now showed up—seemed to hold their breath, waiting to see what would happen.

The lead vampire went slack, still standing as his expression went blank, thunder seeming to rumble in the distance as the skin around the bullet wound seemed to crumble, a wind picking up before he fell to his knees, and with one last pull that Deja felt, not because it was dark energy but because it was raw, massive energy, a shadow seemed to be ripped from his body and he fell unmoving to the ground.

"Luther!" his mate shrieked, barely held back by the remaining vampire.

 _It…it actually works…_

"Kate, don't!" the other vampire said, though none of the hunters paid attention as the two female vampires fled the scene.

They were too busy staring at the dead vampire in front of them, a mixture of awestruck, shock, and smug satisfaction on their faces that the gun had actually worked.

* * *

They all went back to the motel, John included, to pack, and to go back to only three on the road, most likely. Packing never took long, since they always kept so little on them—or at least didn't leave much in the hotel rooms so they could make a quick escape—so Deja wasn't surprised when Dean knocked on her door.

She looked up, a small smile flickering across her face. "Hey, I'm pretty much ready to go if you guys are."

Dean nodded, stepping into the room. "Yeah, we're basically set. I came over to tell you…Dad's staying."

Deja paused, unfortunately unable to hide _all_ of her surprise at his statement. "Really? I thought he wanted to do this one alone?"

"Yeah, but…Sam and I changed his mind. So, he's going to let us help…and you," Dean said, coming to a stop beside her.

"Me? I thought he didn't even trust me to know about the gun?"

Dean chuckled under his breath, though the sound was on the humorless side. "Well, it did take some convincing, and I told him I'd already told you about the gun and you knew what was going on."

"Bet he didn't take that well."

"Mm…better than I expected him too."

"Listen, Dean…" Deja said with a sigh, absentmindedly thumping her fist against her other palm a few times. "I appreciate you defending me and all, but I don't want to become a problem between you and your father."

"You're not," Dean soothed her, placing his hand on hers briefly to stop the nervous tick. "Deja, I want you to stay. I've gotten used to having you with us, and…well, it might be a family thing, but I'd feel wrong if you weren't with us to help. I mean, you said you'd stay, so please…stay."

He licked his lips, looking like he was on the verge of saying something that part of him was telling him to keep to himself. Finally, he seemed to decide to just go for it, holding her gaze.

"Stay for me."

Deja suddenly got the very vivid image of the two of them standing toe to toe with their line drawn in red on the ground, and Dean leaning over that line again.

Except now, she wasn't leaning away as much as she had when they were hunting the shtriga.

"In that case…a hunting we will go."


	20. Chapter 19: Salvation

Since John was staying, they didn't leave Colorado that night like they had been planning. Instead, they stuck around so John could fill them in on his hunt for the demon.

Simply being in the room with him the next day after John had put all of his research out on the desk and up on the wall for them to see, Deja felt unwelcome, not by Dean or Sam, of course, but by John. This was their family's hunt, what they had been working on for twenty plus years, and she had never even crossed paths with this thing. In John's eyes, she had no right to be there.

But in Dean and Sam's, she did, and she had agreed to stay for Dean, at least.

Still, if she continued to be unwelcome, she might have to break that promise to stay, because she wasn't going to stay somewhere she wasn't wanted and cause trouble between the Winchesters. Not only that, but she stayed with the Winchesters because she enjoyed it, she loved being around Dean and Sam, and she felt comfortable with them. With John, that was disappearing, and if that feeling of comfort was really over, well, she'd have lost her reason to stay.

Currently, however, the feeling of comfort wasn't her priority—right now she was listening to what John had to say about his hunt for the demon, quietly looking over all the information that was pinned to the wall while John briefed the boys.

"This is everything I know. Look, our whole lives we've been searching for this demon, right? Not a trace, just…nothing. Until about a year ago. For the first time, I picked up a trail," John informed them. Dean came over to stand by the desk his father was sitting at, looking at what was spread out there.

"That's when you took off," Dean commented, and John nodded, chewing absently at his thumb.

"Yeah, that's right, the demon must have come out of hiding or hibernation."

"All right, so what's this trail you found?"

"It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California—houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us."

"Families with infants?" Sam asked where he was standing across the room by the motel rooms little kitchen area, leaning against the counter.

"Yeah, the night of the kid's six month birthday."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "I was six months old that night?"

"Exactly six months," John answered. Deja could see Sam growing increasingly agitated, and she felt worry bubbling in her gut.

"So basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason." Sam gave a bitter laugh of disbelief. "Same way it came for me?"

When no one answered him, Sam continued. "So, Mom's death, Jessica, it's all cause of me?"

"We don't know that, Sam," Dean said tiredly, and Sam snapped up like a suddenly uncoiled spring.

"Oh really, cause I'd say we're pretty damn sure, Dean!"

"For the last time, what happened to them is _not_ your fault."

"Yeah, you're right, it's not my fault, but it's my _problem_!"

"No, it's not your problem, it's _our_ problem!"

"Okay," John said suddenly with a calm and level voice that was a stark contrast to Sam and Dean's rising tones, getting up from the desk and effectively silencing the two boys. "That's enough."

Sam and Dean exchanged one more look, though didn't argue any further as their father had spoken. Deja watched Sam for a few moments, studying his movements, his expression.

She was going to have to try and talk to him alone later.

"So why's it doing it?" Sam asked eventually, making his way back to his spot, voice still agitated but at least he was no longer outright yelling. "What does it want?"

"I wish I had more answers, I do. I've always been one step behind it. Look, I've never gotten there in time to save…" John trailed off, unable to voice the failure out loud, to speak of the families that the demon had destroyed as it had once destroyed the Winchesters.

"All right, so how do we find it, before it hits again," Dean eventually said, steering everyone back on track and keeping the awkward silence from continuing any longer.

"There's signs. Look, it took me a while to see the pattern, but in the days before these fires, signs crop up in an area. Cattle deaths, uh, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms…"

 _The stronger the demon, the more ruckus in nature they tend to make in nature around the area their visiting,_ Deja thought, studying the natural disturbances John was talking about since that was most of the information on the wall.

"And then I went back and checked, and…"

"These things happened in Lawrence," Dean filled in when John didn't finish the thought.

"A week before your mother died," John said with a nod, turning to Sam. "And in Palo Alto…before Jessica. And these signs, they're starting again."

"Where?" Sam asked lowly.

"Salvation, Iowa."

* * *

Deja's stuff was still mostly packed, so she was done and ready to move long before the Winchesters were, taking the time to do a quick checkup on her Stingray before she simply waited, leaning against the Corvette. It didn't take long, most of the stuff still up in the room belonging to John, and soon they were all loaded up and ready to go. Before Sam could get into the Impala, though, Deja stopped him, which of course drew Dean's attention as well.

"Hey, Sam, why don't you ride with me this time—I wanna talk to you," she said with a gentle smile, earning a surprised look from Sam and a suspicious one from Dean.

"What, you trying to get Sammy alone?" Dean asked.

"Yes, Dean, I'm sorry, but I love your brother, and I want to profess my love to him with a long-winded speech," Deja said sarcastically, getting an amused snort out of Sam. "Calm down, hot stuff, you're still first in the running."

Without any clarification on that analogy, and studiously ignoring John by his truck as he observed their conversation, Deja turned back to Sam, jerking her head back towards her car. "C'mon, hop in—I'll drag you by your ear if I have to, and you know it."

"All right, I'm coming," Sam chuckled, shutting the door to the Impala and making his way around her Corvette. Dean gave him a _Dude, what about me_ , gesture, and Sam just shrugged in answer before getting in the passenger's side of Deja's car.

Deja waited until they were on the road, taking up the rear of the three car line and pointing to the floor of the passenger's side where she had a roughly half-finished twelve pack of cherry Dr. Pepper sitting.

"There, you drink, I'll drive," she said casually. Sam rolled his eyes.

"That's a terrible joke, you know."

Deja shrugged. "Well, not all of my wisecracks can be gold."

"Right…" Sam returned, shaking his head and not picking up a can of soda. "So, you said you wanted to talk—when does the talking start?"

"Well…I was going to ease into it, but if you want to jump feet first into the conversation, it's your choice."

"Do you always beat around the bush like this?"

"I've grown used to talking with Dean—there tends to be a lot of roundabout talking with him," Deja chuckled softly before she sobered, warming up to being much more direct. "It's about what you said in the motel."

Sam frowned, thinking back to the conversation between the three Winchesters. "What part?"

"About blaming yourself for their deaths," Deja said softly, eyes riveted on the road while she let that sink in. After a few moments, she glanced at him. "I get it."

Sam snorted softly—bitterly—and looked away. "No, you don't."

"Wanna bet?" Deja asked, eyebrows raised. She kept casting her gaze from the road to Sam—since she couldn't give him full, undivided attention while driving—until he finally looked at her again, and she let him see how serious she was. "Sam, those witches that slaughtered my family all those years ago—they wanted _me_. So yes, I do get it. And I'm not going to tell you it's not your fault because I know that no matter what anyone says, you'll keep that blame until _maybe_ one day you can let it go. Until then, you can't let it eat you up, you can't keep thinking about it, or that guilt will drown you."

Sam sighed, mulling over her words in silence before he spoke. "And you? Have you let it go yet?"

Deja didn't look at him, keeping her gaze forward as a long silence stretched between them before she finally answered him. "No."

"How do you do it, then? Cope, carry that blame, deal with it, whatever you want to call it?" Sam asked. Deja shrugged, knowing he was looking for advice in this area.

"Everyone's different, Sam. I've just always been good at distancing myself from emotions and people, and when that's not enough…well, I take the unhealthy route of alcohol consumption until I forget. I strongly suggest not falling into my habits and looking for another way to cope, if you can find one. Mine works for me, but it's not that great." She sighed, glancing over at the younger Winchester brother again. "Though it does help to focus the blame on the people that did it instead of the reason why they did it. I suggest starting there."

Sam swallowed, giving no verbal answer and only nodding to let her know he heard her, his brows furrowed in thought as he gazed out the window watching the scenery roll by. A thoughtful silence fell between them, and when it was clear the conversation wasn't going to be picked back up, Deja put in one of her CDs and let it fill that silence.

* * *

Just outside Salvation, Iowa, John suddenly pulled off to the side of the road, prompting their small train of cars to follow. As each car engine shut off, everyone got out of the cars, all looking to John to see what was going on.

"Damn it!" John swore, slamming the door to his truck behind him.

"What is it?" Dean asked as Sam and Deja approached, concern etched on their faces.

"Son of a bitch!" John cursed again, slamming his hand against the bed of the truck.

"What is it?" Dean repeated.

"I just got a call from Caleb."

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine—Jim Murphy's dead."

Shock fell over both boys' faces. "Pastor Jim?" Sam asked incredulously. John nodded. "How?"

"Throat was slashed, he bled out. Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at Jim's place."

"A demon," Dean said steadily, holding his father's gaze. " _The_ demon?"

"I don't know. Could be he just…he got careless, he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close."

"What do you want to do?"

"Now we act like every second counts. There's two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up, we cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's gonna be six months old in the next week."

"Dad, that could be dozens of kids. How the hell are we gonna know which one's the right one?" Sam asked, doubtful.

"We'll check them all, that's how," John answered shortly. "You got any better ideas?"

Sam shook his head. "No, sir," he said quietly.

One some unspoken command, they each started to make their way back to their cars. John stopped at the end of his truck, seemingly taking a moment to breathe.

"Dad?" Dean asked, concern laced in his tone that made Deja stop and worry for John for a few moments.

"Yeah…it's Jim," John said simply, turning back around and shaking his head. Apparently, this Pastor Jim was a close friend of the Winchesters. "You know, I can't…"

A heavy silence fell across the group, and for once, Deja saw every Winchester there vulnerable, the boys probably because they were seeing their _father_ so vulnerable at the moment.

"This ends now. I'm ending it," John eventually said in a firm voice, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I don't care what it takes."

Deja frowned, unable to help the concern that flashed through her at his words, watching as John went back to the truck.

Some prices…some prices were too high to pay.

* * *

When they split, Dean and John took the two hospitals while Deja and Sam doubled up on the Salvation Medical Center, both of them doing much more damage together on the records and able to get their job done much faster.

Unfortunately, their list of soon to be six month old children was not small, though it was a start, and something they could work with.

Checking each baby each night and trying to be there in time to prevent a tragedy and catch the demon, however…Deja didn't think they could do that. They could try, but even between four hunters…it was impossible.

At least they had somewhere to start.

Walking out of the medical center and heading for where Deja parked the Corvette, Sam was looking through the names in their little notebook, looking for someone who stood out. They were almost to the street when he suddenly froze, hissing in pain and pinching the bridge of his nose like he had a migraine.

But migraines didn't come that suddenly, migraines built up over time.

"Sam?" Deja asked in concern, watching him closely. Sam didn't answer, hand moving up to his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched.

"Sam," Deja repeated, now at his side with a hand on his shoulder. He blinked a few times, rapidly, like he was trying to get some image out of his head. He looked around, still doing the same pained ticks and wiping his hand on his jeans nervously before he suddenly doubled over in pain, hands on his temples. "Sam!"

 _He's not…is he having a…vision? But that doesn't make sense, he's just a regular guy, why would he…He did seem pretty interested when I mentioned my psychic tendencies in Illinois, was he interested because he has them too?_

 _Well, if it's a vision…_

"Sam, deep breaths, focus…" Deja coached him, putting a hand on his head instinctively, concern etched on every line of her face. She wished she could do more than a pithy head massage to help, but they were in the middle of a crowded sidewalk, so she'd have to work with what they had. Gently, she grabbed his arm and led him away from the immediate public eye, pulling him under the shade of a tree a few paces away from the medical center. His eyes were still squeezed shut, face twisted in pain, and the occasional hiss making it past his lips, but other than that he hadn't snapped out of it yet. "C'mon…ride it out…"

Finally his eyes opened again and he let out a short gasp, the aftershocks no doubt still hurting but the worst of it over as his eyes focused on reality around him once again and Deja let her hand drop away from his head.

"A train," Sam murmured before he could even register Deja was still with him, blindly reaching for his bag.

Well, there were no trains around here, so he had to be talking about whatever he'd seen.

"A train? Where? Sam, what did you see?" Deja asked as he pulled out a map. He paused when she spoke, suddenly unsure.

"I, ah…um…" he fumbled, struggling to explain himself. Deja held up a hand to stop him.

"Let's make this easier and skip the what things you're seeing and how, skip all that background information for now, and you simply tell me what you just saw in your vision," Deja said seriously, catching his gaze. Sam looked shocked she wasn't demanding answers, but started giving her a rough explanation as he unfolded the map he'd dug out.

"There was…a nursery—a girl's nursery, there was a music box and night light with ballerinas on it—and a baby in a white crib. And a woman with dark hair in a night gown, and she was looking out a window while a train went by…a dark figure, I only saw that briefly just a few flickers…"

"You saw who the demon's going after next, didn't you," Deja asked quietly as he opened the map for both of them to look at. "It must be a house by the train tracks, then. Think you could recognize the woman or the window of we saw them?"

"Definitely," Sam replied. "Look, there's train tracks running down one side of Grace Avenue and near Violet Avenue. That train was loud enough it has to be around there."

"Then that's where we'll go. We'll take my car to the area, it'll be faster," Deja told him, already moving in the direction she parked her car while Sam delved into his thoughts—no doubt about his vision—and continued looking at the map.

Once they were in the car, Deja kept one eye on him and Sam gave directions, Deja going slow enough he could get a good look at houses they passed. She kept waiting for another episode to happen, but so far nothing.

They were in a rather densely populated urban area by the tracks when Sam suddenly grabbed at his head again, and Deja instantly pulled the car off to the side of the road near a park. "Deep breaths, Sam, tell me what you see," Deja told him, leaning over to put a hand on his shoulder and give him something to keep him semi-anchored to reality.

"The music box again," Sam narrated, eyes squeezed shut. "The woman, she's going to the window cause of the train…now she's outside the nursery going in and…there's…someone standing over the crib."

Suddenly it was over, and he simply sat in the passenger's seat rubbing his temple. Deja sighed, getting out of the car. "C'mon, let's go on foot from here—if you're having another one we must be close," she reasoned, and Sam got out of the car to follow her.

They were making their way past a public park when Sam suddenly stopped, staring at a house across the street. "That's it—that's the house, that window…" he declared, eyes drifting from the two-story house to a dark haired woman walking on the other side of the street with a stroller as his voice dropped to a quieter tone. "And that's the woman I saw."

Deja looked across the street at the dark haired woman carrying an umbrella, a bag, and pushing a stroller, then tugged gently on his arm. "Let's go meet the neighbors, then," she murmured, quickly crossing the street with Sam close at her side. Once they reached the woman, she put on a bright smile, coming up beside the woman.

"I'm sorry, I saw a stroller and I had to come see," she said bashfully, Sam still at her side. "May I?" she asked, nodding towards the covered stroller.

"Oh, of course," the woman said politely, and Deja crouched down to see the baby girl within, smiling for real at the wide eyed child in front of her.

"Hi, sweetheart! Aren't you a gorgeous little thing," she cooed while the baby blinked up at her, sucking silently on her pacifier.

"Here, let me hold that," Sam said politely, gesturing to the bag she was barely holding to with the same hand she was using to push the stroller. He nodded pointedly towards the umbrella she was holding in her other hand. "You look like you don't need that anymore," Sam offered.

"Oh, thanks," she said, handing him the bag while she collapsed the umbrella.

"What's your name, beautiful?" Deja asked the baby with a smile, the child's eyes still riveted on her.

"It's Rosie," the woman told her, and Deja's smile grew even bigger.

"Rosie—that's a very pretty name," Deja told the baby, resisting the urge to gently bop her nose or tickle her hand or anything like that. Instead, she looked up at the mother. "I'm Deja—this is Sam."

"Yeah, we, ah, just moved in up the block," Sam said, offering his hand for the mother to shake.

"Oh, hey—I'm Monica," she introduced herself, looking between the two while Sam handed her bag back. "Welcome to the neighborhood. You two have kids as well?"

"Nah…not yet, anyway," Deja said, rising to her feet and still smiling faintly at Rosie. "She's so precious," Deja sighed, keeping up with her gushing over the child.

"I know, she—I mean, she never cries," Monica said proudly, a smile on her face as well now. "She just stares at everybody. Sometimes she looks at you and I swear, it's—it's like she's reading your mind."

"What about you, Monica, have you lived here long?" Sam asked, smiling slightly at the sight of the two woman talking babies.

"Ah, my husband and I, we bought our place just before Rosie was born."

"How old is Rosie?"

"She's six months today."

Sam's smile faltered for a moment, so Deja swept in to save the moment.

"Six months! Wow, she's getting so big then—you'll be crawling around and walking before your Mommy even knows it," Deja cooed at Rosie.

"She's growing like a weed," Monica agreed.

"Monica…" Sam said hesitantly, his suddenly somber mood obvious.

"Yeah?" Monica asked, picking up on his drop in mood.

"Just, uh, take care of yourself, okay?" Sam told her, and Deja took a step closer both as a silent support and as a sign she was ready to get going as well.

"Yeah, you two, Sam, Deja. We'll see you around," Monica said pleasantly.

"Yeah, definitely," Sam answered, the three easily parting ways. While Deja and Sam crossed the street, a car pulled into the driveway of the house, and Deja heard Monica cooing to Rosie.

"Oh, there's Daddy!"

Deja and Sam reached the other side of the street, Sam looking back to see Monica's husband give her a cheek, the perfect picture of a normal family completely oblivious to what was in store. Deja gently touched his arm.

"They'll be all right—we'll make sure of it," Deja told him softly.

"Yeah…" Sam murmured, though he didn't sound very confident. Suddenly he doubled over again, making a more audible sound of pain as he clutched at his head.

"Sam!" Deja exclaimed as he stumbled, and she caught him by the arm, forcing him to lean against her as she pulled them towards the car.

They needed to get out of the public eye and back to the motel Dean and John were going to meet them at before they made a scene.

And on that note, she needed to call Dean and tell him what was going on.

* * *

Once everyone was back at the motel, the explanations started.

Apparently, John didn't know this particular fact about Sam, either.

So, presently, Sam sat at the table in the little kitchenette area of the motel room, head in his hands as it was still hurting from the last vision he had. Dean and John were sitting on different beds watching Sam and processing what they'd just been told, and Deja was setting a glass of water and some painkillers in front of Sam, putting a hand on his head and giving it a gentle rub.

"Take it easy till the headache goes away," Deja told him, keeping her voice soft and making sure there weren't any bright lights that would agitate the pain. Sam nodded, downing the painkillers and half the water once she'd given it to him.

"A vision," John finally said incredulously, staring at Sam while Dean looked on in clear anticipation.

Sam sighed, clearly not wanting to go through it again but relenting since it was his father. "Yes. I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling."

"All right, and you think it's gonna happen to this woman you met because?"

"Because these things happen exactly the way I see them," Sam said flatly. Dean stood up, taking over for his still-in-pain brother as he made his way into the kitchenette area as well.

"It started out as nightmares, and then he started having them while he was awake," Dean explained, leaning around Deja to get to the coffee maker. While she shuffled out of the way, his fingers clutched to hers in a brief passing squeeze.

A silent thanks for keeping an eye on Sam while he had a vision that made him feel like his head was being split open.

"Yeah…" Sam said softly. "It's like…I don't know, it's like the closer I get to anything involving the demon, the stronger the visions get."

"All right, when were you going to tell me about this?" John asked, how upset he was clear in his tone.

"We didn't know what it meant," Dean said simply.

"All right, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone, and you call me," John ordered angrily.

Dean set down the coffee pot with a clatter, which masked Deja's soft snort as he turned around to face John. "Call you?" Dean asked incredulously, stepping forward with notes of anger vibrating in his voice as well. "Are you kidding me? Dad, I called you from Lawrence, all right. Sam called you when I was _dying_!"

John's gaze flickered towards Deja, who only watched the man silently from where she stood in the kitchenette, keeping her judgements to herself.

"I mean, getting you on the phone—I've got a better chance at winning the lottery," Dean finished.

John looked to Sam, who wouldn't meet his eyes. John looked down at the ground, nodding slowly. "You're right."

Dean seemed a little taken aback to hear John say as much, though he didn't say anything, and John continued. "Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours…" John said, gaze sliding towards Deja again, the implications of that look clear to her before he looked back at Dean. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Look, guys, visions or no visions, the fact is, we know the demon is coming tonight. And this family's going to go through the same hell that we went through," Sam interrupted, successfully changing the topic of the conversation as Dean returned to making his next round of coffee, sharing a brief look with Deja that caused her to have to resist the instinct to move a little closer to him.

"No, they're not," John said firmly. "No one is, ever again."

Before anyone could say another word, Sam's phone—which was sitting on the table in front of him—started ringing. Dean turned around to lean against the counter beside Deja, taking a slow drink from his coffee while John ran his hands over his face and Sam answered his phone.

"Hello?" Sam asked, waiting a few moments. "Who is this?"

Suddenly, he straightened. "Meg."

Deja and Dean both tensed at the name. "Pixie Bitch?" Deja blurted, earning a strange look from John.

 _Whoops, said that out loud…_

"Last time I saw you, you fell out of a window," Sam said lowly while Dean looked outside their window on instinct, John rising from the bed to start making his way over to Sam. Deja couldn't hear what Meg was saying, but she could get the gist of it from what Sam said. "Just your feelings? That was a seven story drop."

Meg must have spoken again, and Sam looked over at John. "My dad. I don't know where my dad is." While Meg answered, voice a little louder so that Deja heard a dull murmur from the phone, John approached Sam, holding his hand out for the phone. Sam reluctantly handed it over.

"This is John," John said, turning away and starting a slow walk back into the room with the beds. After a brief pause where he hung his head, he spoke again. "I'm here."

There was another long pause, and then John's entire demeanor changed. "Caleb?" he asked, voice surprised and worried—emotional, even if it was only a little. "Caleb. You listen to me—he's got nothing to do with anything, you let him go…I don't know what you're talking about…Caleb—Caleb!"

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had just happened.

The Winchesters were down another family friend.

"I'm gonna kill you, you know that?" John growled, running a hand down his face as he listened to what Meg was saying next. There was a long pause while John struggled with himself to give Meg an answer to whatever she was asking for, and then, after a painfully long time had passed, he answered. "Okay…I said okay. I'll bring you the colt."

 _What_ and _you've got to be joking_ were no longer strong enough phrases to communicate what the expressions of Dean, Deja, and Sam said—Sam especially, since he had the most obvious reaction to John's words.

John shook his head at something Meg said. "It's gonna take me about a day's drive to get there…that's impossible. I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on a plane."

Finally, John hung up, and with that their night got even more complicated than it already was.

* * *

"So, you think Meg's a demon?"

They were on a clock, they were stuck at a split in the path before them, and there was a tough choice to be made. Not only that, but the choice was in John Winchester's hands, since Sam and Dean looked to him for what to do and Deja was just along for the ride.

The thought kind of scared her, and she wondered what the oldest Winchester was going to do now that Meg had given him her ultimatum.

Meg gets the colt by midnight, or demons start killing the Winchesters' friends and associates one by one.

But they needed the gun tonight to stop Monica's family from dying.

"Either that, or she's possessed by one. It doesn't really matter," John said in answer to Sam's question. Dean walked up to stand beside Sam, expression serious.

"What do we do?" Dean asked.

"I'm going to Lincoln" John said simply. The reaction was instantaneous.

"What?" Dean said lowly.

"It doesn't seem like I have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people die, our _friends_ die," John returned stiffly.

"Dad, the demon is coming tonight for Monica and her family. That gun is all we got, you can't just hand it over," Sam fumed.

"Who said anything about handing it over? Look, besides us and a couple vampires, no one's really seen the gun. No one knows what it looks like."

"So, what, you're just gonna pick up a ringer at a pawn shop?" Dean returned sarcastically. John shrugged.

"Antique store."

Dean was taken aback, shocked that John actually planned to do what he'd just suggested. "You're gonna hand a fake gun to Meg and hope she doesn't _notice_?"

"Look, as long as it's close, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"Yeah, but for how long? What happens when she figures it out?"

"I just—I just need to buy a few hours, that's all," John said softly. Deja straightened from where she still stood in the kitchenette, silent behind the three Winchesters.

"You mean for Dean and me," Sam said softly, voicing what Deja had just realized as well. "You want us to stay here…and kill this demon by _ourselves_?"

"No, Sam! I want to stop losing the people we love, I want you to go to school, I want—I want Dean to have a _home_!" John snapped, voice strangled with emotion the more he spoke. John turned away at the last sentence, and Deja ducked her head low, lips parting slightly.

Home…when was the last place _she'd_ had a home? Then again…with Sam and Dean, _especially_ with Dean…she felt a semblance of home. And she was beginning to feel like a semblance was the closest she'd ever get.

Across the room from Deja, John stifled a sob, shocking everyone in the room. "I want Mary alive…" he said mournfully, taking a moment before he turned around, staring Sam and Dean down. "I just…I just want this to be _over_."

* * *

Deja's Corvette was left at the motel, and she rode with Dean to go get their fake colt while Sam stayed with John. Not one word was spoken between the two of them—Deja had no idea what she would have said if they would have struck up conversation. She'd lost count of everything that needed to be said between them, and she doubted she'd ever be able to say it all at this rate. Still, on the way back from the antique store, when the silence was starting to grow unbearable as the tension for what was to come grew, Deja let herself do something she hadn't done in…a while.

Timidly, she slipped her hand across the seat, fingers outstretched until they found the side of Dean's hand. Dean was so wound up with anticipation and tension by then that he jumped at the contact, looking at her in surprise when he realized it was her. Without saying a word, she slipped her hand into his, Dean giving ground effortlessly and allowing her to even tug his hand closer in her direction. She twined their fingers together easily, her hand on top, and then gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, looking up at him to catch his green eyes.

 _It'll be okay, I promise._

Dean looked at her as long as he could without crashing the car, returning the squeeze and running his thumb along the side of her hand. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but instead he stopped himself, deciding not to let an attempt at words ruin the moment. Instead, he nodded, holding tight to her hand the rest of the way to the rendezvous point where they were supposed to meet Sam and John before everyone split up and went their separate ways.

After Dean brought the Impala to a halt a few paces behind John's truck, they both reluctantly let go so he could put the car in park and shut off the engine, both of them getting out without any hesitation.

They were still on a clock, and John had to be in Lincoln in a few hours.

"Did you get it?" John asked as they approached him and Sam.

In answer, Dean pulled the brown paper bag that had the antique colt wrapped inside out of his jacket pocket, giving it to John with a sense of finality in the air as he did so. Deja took a step closer to Dean, partially for warmth from the nippy air while she pulled her jacket closer around her, and partially as silent support in case he needed some.

"You know this is a trap, don't you?" Dean asked as John pulled the gun out of the bag. "That's why Meg wants you to come alone. Someone should go with you—Deja could, she…witches and demons are her specialty," Dean tried.

"I'd rather she was here helping you boys, you'll need it. I can handle Meg. I've got a whole arsenal loaded—holy water, Mandaic amulets—"

"Dad…" Dean said seriously, cutting John off.

"What?"

"Promise me something?"

"What's that?"

"If you won't take her with you…then if this thing goes south, just…just get the hell out. Don't get yourself killed, all right? You're no good to us dead," Dean said quietly. Deja discreetly leaned closer to Dean so their arms were touching, and though he didn't acknowledge the movement, he didn't pull away either.

John nodded slowly. "Same goes for you." He sighed, pulling out the real colt. "All right, listen to me. They made the bullets special for this colt. There's only four of them left. Without them this gun is useless. You make every shot count."

"Yes, sir," Sam said firmly.

"I've been waiting a long time for this fight…" John mused, the silence between all of them broken only by the whistle of a train in the distance, a lone bird, and the wind. "Now it's here, and I'm not gonna be in it. It's up to you boys now. It's your fight. You finish this. You finish what I started. You understand?"

Sam and Dean's serious expressions were John's answer, and once he had that answer he handed the real colt off to Dean, who held it with such reverence it could have been his firstborn child.

"We'll see you soon, Dad," Sam said, though it sounded like he was saying it to make everyone there believe it was the undeniable truth.

In all honestly, none of them wanted to see John go by himself to walk into a trap with a false gun.

"I'll see you later," John said with a bittersweet smile, clapping Sam on the shoulder before he made his way to the driver's side of the truck. Deja pretty much clung to Dean's side, standing with him and watching John's truck disappear into the distance.

"Later," Dean eventually said to the empty air once John's truck was no longer in their sights.

* * *

Deja's Corvette remained at the motel for three reasons: one, two cars were more noticeable than one, two, black blended into the darkness far better than white did, and three, they wanted to stick together. So, Deja was with them in the Impala, occupying the back seat as they watched Monica's house from across the street. The colt lay between Sam and Dean in the front seat, ready to be snatched up at a moment's notice. It was mostly silence between them because of the seriousness of the situation, and despite everything weighing down on them, Deja could at least appreciate the fact that it was just the three of them again.

But she could only appreciate it briefly because of the thought of where the third Winchester was about now.

"Maybe we can tell them there's a gas leak," Sam suddenly said, breaking the silence. "Might get them out of the house for a few hours."

"Yeah, and how many times has that actually worked for us?" Dean returned.

"Yeah…" Sam relented, falling silent for a few moments before he came up with another idea. "Could always tell them the truth."

Dean paused, looked at him, and said, "Nah," rather dramatically the same time Sam groaned and said, "I know, I know, I just…"

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "With what's coming for these people—"

"Sam, we've only got one move, and you know it, all right? We got to wait for that demon to show itself, and then we get it before it gets them," Dean reminded him.

Dean had just looked back to the house when Sam spoke again.

Deja didn't mind the talking, but Sam _really_ needed to work on his choice of topics.

"I wonder what Dad's doing," Sam mused out loud.

"I'd feel a lot better if even one of us were there backing him up," Dean admitted, gaze distant for a few moments.

"I'd feel a lot better if he were here backing us up," Sam replied, and thankfully a silence descended between the three of them again. Deja remained reclined in the back seat, gazing at the house without making a sound.

"You still alive back there, Deja?" Dean asked at one point, and Deja snorted softly.

"I'm still here, just…waiting. I promise to warn you if I start to fall asleep or something," she said quietly, proud that she managed to get a little bit of a chuckle out of Dean with the joke.

Time continued to pass slowly all three of them simply watching the house, the street, keeping an eye out for signs of a demon nearby or some disturbance in the house. They watched as all the curtains were drawn, and one by one the lights went out inside…

"This is weird," Sam said suddenly, drawing their attention again.

"What?" Dean asked.

"After all these years we're finally here. It doesn't seem real."

 _I wonder if it will feel that way for me…_

"We just got to keep our heads and do our job like always," Dean said casually. It was somewhat amusing to see the stark difference between the two, where Sam wanted to talk about the deep moving stuff and Dean seemed to just want to sit in silence, focused entirely on the job.

"Yeah, but this isn't like always," Sam said.

"True."

"Dean, ah…I want to thank you."

Dean stared at Sam for a few long moments. "For what?"

"For everything. You've always had my back, you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone, I could always count on you. And now…I don't know, I just wanted to let you know. Just in case."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, are you _kidding_ me?" Dean asked incredulously.

"What?"

"Don't say just in case something happens to you, I don't want to hear that freakin' speech, man! Nobody's dying tonight," Dean argued. "Not us, not that family, nobody! Except that demon. That evil son of a bitch isn't getting any older than tonight, you understand me?"

A heavy silence fell, Sam only nodding to give an answer. After that silence dragged on for a few minutes, Deja spoke up.

"And on that note, if either of you try to give me the last night on earth speech, I will smack you in the back of the head." Sam and Dean both turned around to give her slightly irritated _really_ looks, and she gave them an innocent expression in return. "Badly timed? Sorry, had to say something to break the tension…I am still back here, you know."

Dean rolled his eyes, turning back to face forwards again. "Wow…"

"Just reminding you," Deja said casually, letting the car fall back into silence now that they'd been reminded of her presence.

It made her feel awkward when they forgot she was with them.

* * *

After it passed midnight, Dean tried calling John.

No answer.

"Dad's not answering," Dean finally announced after what felt like the five hundredth call.

"Maybe Meg was late," Sam suggested. "Maybe cell reception's bad."

"Yeah, well…" Dean said with a sigh, shaking his head.

Suddenly, a high pitched whine mixed in with static started to come from the radio, and Deja sat up from her spot in the back seat, staring at the radio in the front.

"Dean, wait…listen," Sam said slowly, messing with the dial when the sound faded slightly. It picked up in intensity, and Deja felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Guys, that's a sign," she said seriously, hand reaching out slowly to touch the door handle as she looked back at the house. The wind started to pick up outside, and only one light flickered before Deja was opening the door. "Get out—it's here," she said seriously, all of her sense immediately going on high alert as she got out of the car. Sam and Dean were only a heartbeat behind her, though she had to let Dean in front of her dash towards the house since he was the one with the lock picking kit and she didn't feel like trying to pick a door with a bobby pin when he had a kit.

It only took Dean a few moments to get them inside, though it felt longer with Sam looming anxiously over them. The entire house was dark, the power having officially gone out, as Sam and Dean took the lead—this was their family's lifelong case, she wasn't about to get in the way, she was only an extra buffer, simple support—Sam holding the colt at the ready.

Movement registered just barely in Deja's line of vision, and suddenly she leapt back with Dean as a baseball bat came swinging through the air they'd both been standing in a second ago, smashing into a lamp and sending it shattering to the floor.

"Get out of my house!" Monica's husband shouted, swinging at Dean specifically this time. Dean caught the bat, dropping his other hand to the man's arm as he continued to shout the same sentence over and over, the two struggling for the weapon. Dean finally just swung the man around, pinning him to the wall with his own weapon.

"Mr. Holt, please," Sam pled, Dean quickly taking over.

"Be quiet and listen to me," Dean ordered quickly. "We're trying to help you, okay?"

"Charlie? Is everything okay down there?" they all heard Monica call down the stairs.

"Monica, get the baby!" Charlie all but screamed, and Deja cursed.

" _Don't go in the nursery_!" Sam shouted, though Deja was pretty sure it was probably too late.

"Dean, get him out of here!" Deja ordered, jabbing a finger at the pinned Charlie as Sam sprinted up the stairs. Deja followed after him, not about to let him go into the same room as a demon without any kind of backup, even if he did have the colt.

"You stay away from her!" Deja heard Charlie shout behind her, though by the sudden muffled sounds of impact she heard, she was pretty sure Dean had just temporarily knocked him out or disabled him somehow.

Good, one less thing to worry about.

Deja sprinted down the hall just as Sam fired the weapon, though she was pretty sure Sam missed since she felt no pulse of energy this time, and the dark shadow that had been by the crib evaporated instead of falling to a heap on the floor.

It was still somewhere, but right now their priority was the family.

"Where the hell did it go?" Sam cursed as Deja skidded into the nursery.

"My baby!" Monica was shrieking as Sam turned to her, and Deja quickly passed them to end up at the crib, gingerly gathering little Rosie into her arms with tender care, blanket and all. She hadn't even pulled her out of the crib yet when it spontaneously combusted, the flames quickly spreading faster than it should have been possible.

"Deja!" Sam shouted when he saw the flames leaping towards her hands and Rosie, but she was already moving, Rosie clutched to her chest.

"Go, I got her," Deja ordered, and she followed close on Sam's heels as she, Sam, and Monica rushed out of the room, Rosie not even crying despite the chaos, fire, and shouting all around.

The house was already rapidly filling with smoke, the nursery behind them swiftly devoured by the spreading flames, but they were already ahead of it, fleeing down the stairs and out the door just as something in the nursery caused a fireball to shatter the windows in the nursery.

"You get away from my family!" Deja heard, looking up to see a furious Charlie being held back by a relieved Dean.

"No, Charlie, don't, they saved us!" Monica told him, voice strangled with emotion as she turned to Deja and Sam. "They _saved_ us…"

Carefully, Deja handed Rosie to her mother, amazed that the child still hadn't made a peep with everything going on. Dean let Charlie go as well, and the family grouped together, Monica looking at the three hunters with clear gratitude.

"Thank you," Monica whispered.

Sam glanced back at the house, suddenly going rigid. "It's still in there," he growled, and Deja saw him tense up just in time to reach out and grab his arm as he threw himself back in the direction of the house.

"Sam, _no_!" Dean shouted, grabbing the other arm and coming around to block Sam's path as well. Sam railed against the combined restraints of Dean and Deja, eyes fixated on the shadow that seemed to be watching them from the flames inside the nursery.

"Let me go! It's still in there!" Sam hollered.

"It's burning to the ground—it's suicide!" Dean yelled at him.

"I don't care!" Sam thundered.

"I do!" Dean snapped, planting himself firmly between Sam and the house while Deja restrained Sam from behind. Sam finally stopped fighting them, glaring up at the burning nursery with barely contained fury. Deja and Dean barely had a chance to look back up to the shadow watching them from within before it disappeared.

At least the family was safe.

* * *

"Come on, Dad, answer your phone, damn it."

Once Monica's family was for sure safe, Dean, Deja, and Sam had returned to the motel. Sam was still furious, though he was managing to keep from having an outburst, and Dean seemed like he was being torn in different directions with different worries. Deja would have been doing something to help ease Dean's stress, but he was pacing, moving around too much for her to even attempt anything.

Sam had so much pent up anger she was worried poking at it would cause him to erupt, even if she was just trying to help, so she figured it was best just to leave him be.

"Something's wrong…" Dean said, chewing on his lip as he stared at the phone in his hand. Before Deja could offer any words of comfort, support, or reason, Dean looked at Sam, who was completely silent despite the fact their father still wasn't responding. "Did you hear me? Something's happened."

"If you had just let me go in there, I could have ended all this," Sam said in a dangerously quiet tone of voice.

"Sam, the only thing you would have ended was your _life_ ," Dean scolded him.

"You don't know that."

"So, what, you're just willing to sacrifice yourself, is that it?"

Sam rose to his feet. "Yeah. Yeah, you're _damn_ right I am."

"Yeah, well, that's not gonna happen—not as long as I'm around."

"What the hell are you talking about, Dean? We've been searching for this demon our whole lives. It's the _only_ thing we've ever cared about!"

"Sam, I want to waste it, I do, okay? But it's not worth _dying_ over!" Dean snapped, getting right in Sam's face.

"What?" Sam asked, as if he couldn't believe the perfect sense coming out of his brother's mouth.

"I mean it! If hunting this demon means you getting yourself killed, then I hope we _never_ find the damn thing!"

"That thing killed Jess. That thing killed _mom_."

Dean looked Sam right in the eyes, unwavering. "You said it yourself once," Dean said steadily. "That no matter what we do, they're gone, and they're never coming back."

Sam suddenly grabbed Dean, swinging him around and pinning him to the wall. "Don't you say that! Don't you—not after all this! Don't you say that!" Sam shouted at him. Deja was on her feet as soon as Dean impacted with the wall and she grabbed a fistful of Sam's shirt, pushing him away from Dean with all her might.

"Sam! Stop it! Now!" she shouted. It caught his attention, considering she'd never yelled at either of them like that before. "You still have family, Sam! Wake up! Quit trying to die for what you once had, and try living for what you _do_ have!"

Sam stared at her, still breathing heavily, still mad…until Dean spoke up.

"Sam, look…" Dean said quietly from where he still had his back to the wall, Deja's other hand resting on his chest. "The three of us—that's all we've had, till Deja came and made it four. And it's all _I_ have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man. Without you and Dad…"

"Dad," Sam breathed shakily, finally backing off as the combined efforts of Dean and Deja finally got through to him. Sam turned away, getting control of himself while Dean sagged against the wall, looking like he'd just been put through the meat grinder and had the fight squeezed right out of him. Deja drew closer to him, brows furrowed in concern and heart breaking at Dean's tone and words as she started to gently rub from his chest to shoulder and back again in a steady pattern until he trapped her hand to his chest, giving it a weak squeeze before pulling her fingers to his lips for a brief kiss in thanks. As he trapped her hand against his chest again, Sam turned back around. "He should have called by now. Try him again."

Dean swallowed the emotions that had risen to the surface in the past few minutes, licking his lips as he redialed the phone in his other hand, bringing the phone to his ear and waiting.

This time, Deja was close enough she could hear the person on the other end when someone picked up the phone.

But it wasn't John.

"You boys really screwed up this time," came Meg's voice.

Instantly, fear flashed across Dean's face, his grip on Deja's hand tightening as he looked to his brother. "Where is he?" he asked Meg, a tremble in his voice.

"You're never gonna see your father again," she answered, and with that, the line went dead. Dean trembled slightly underneath Deja's fingertips, and as soon as the phone snapped shut in his hands he was moving.

"They've got Dad," he said shakily, pulling away from Deja to pace by his bed, a storm cloud of fear, worry, and an utter loss as to what to do on his face mixed in with several other unreadable emotions.

"Meg?" Sam asked, though it was rhetorical as he went right into the next question. "What did she say?"

"I just told you, Sammy." Dean ran a hand down his face, trying to shove all of the raging emotions aside and focus on the now. "Okay…okay…"

Dean looked around the room, picking up the colt and shoving it in the back of his jeans before he bolted to the hardly unpacked duffel he'd left on his bed, already a blur around the room as he packed up what little was lying about the room.

"What are you doing, Dean?" Sam asked.

"We got to go."

"Why?" Sam demanded, his anger resurfacing.

"Because the demon knows we're in Salvation, all right? It knows we've got the colt, it's got Dad, it's probably coming for us next!" Dean rushed, shrugging on his jacket.

"Good! We've still got three bullets left, let it come!"

"Listen, tough guy, we're not ready, okay! We don't know how many of them are out there. Now we're no good to anybody dead—we're leaving. _Now_!"

Dean didn't wait for any more protests from Sam, brushing past him and heading right out the door. Deja was close behind him, only pausing long enough to address Sam with a few words. "He's right—we have to go—grab your stuff and let's go."

Her stuff was already in the Corvette, so she simply tossed the keys to the motel room on the ground by the door, figuring Dean was going to be in such a hurry to leave they weren't going to go through the check out process no matter how fast or slow it could be. He'd already thrown his duffel in the back seat, and Deja barely managed to stop him as he was coming around to the driver's side.

"Hey," she said seriously, trying to get his attention as he moved to step around her.

"Deja, not now, we've got to—"

"Dean, breathe. I know. We've got to wait a few moments for Sam, anyway," Deja said, cutting him off.

"What?" he asked shortly, staring down at her.

Deja searched his gaze—his panic stricken, worried, tense gaze—and without any warning or asking for any permission like she normally would in a tense situation like right now, Deja simply wrapped her arms around him, one hooking up around his waist, the other hooking down over his shoulder, meeting somewhere in the middle as she buried her face in his neck. For once, he was resistant at first, still too pent up, worried, and in a rush to leave, but they did have a few moments while they waited for Sam, and Deja wasn't going to let the chance slip by, so she held fast. Eventually, he gave in, returning the full hug and burying his face in her shoulder. Once he got to that point, it seemed he realized he had _support_ , and there was no one else around to see them, and his arms constricted around her like he was clinging to a lifeline, crushing her to himself. She didn't mind, and she held him just as securely.

"Tell me you're not going anywhere," he murmured into her shoulder, his voice still shaky from his raging emotions.

"Your Dad's in trouble—there's no way in hell I'm leaving," she reassured him, rubbing his back slightly to reassure him more. "Lead the way—I'll follow you."


	21. Chapter 20: Devil's Trap, Part 1

Dean drove with such fury that several times when they went over a hill, no matter how small it was, Deja saw all four wheels leave the pavement and the Impala was airborne for a few seconds before it hit the ground again. This flight to safety was even more intense than when they left Chicago, and for a while, it didn't seem Dean had any direction in mind other than _away_.

Then, suddenly, the Impala picked up speed, and every turn—sometimes a sharp ninety degree turn that made Deja feel like she was in danger of flipping her car—seemed filled with purpose and direction.

He'd thought of a safe place to go.

At least that's what Deja gathered with Dean's sudden purposeful driving.

They didn't stop, driving all through the night until Dean suddenly started leading them through backroads one after another when, finally, he started to slow, and sometime in the morning they pulled into an auto salvage yard, past rows and rows of cars and a few barns and sheds, until Dean came to a complete stop next to a faded blue two-story house.

Deja parked right behind Dean, running a hand through her hair as she got out and wondering what his game plan was considering if he came up with a plan while driving, she wasn't privy to it since she was driving a separate car. A dog started barking, drawing her attention to a Rottweiler chained to a tree and laying down on a blue truck. Not long after the dog started barking, it's owner stepped onto the porch, a double barrel shotgun in hand.

"Who are you, and what the _hell_ are you doin on my property?" The man barked, shotgun pointed at Deja. She put her hands up on instinct, knowing reaching for her gun would only cause him to pump her full of shotgun shells. Not to mention, she was assuming he was most likely the reason Dean had led them here.

"Whoa, whoa, Bobby, no need for Ole Faithful, she's with us!" Dean said quickly, coming into Bobby's line of vision to stand next to Deja, Sam a step behind him. Bobby lowered the shotgun just slightly.

"Dean? Sam? What're you boys doin here?" Bobby asked, surprise and worry falling across his face. Dean let out a long sigh.

"Bobby, we need your help."

* * *

It took a little longer than Deja would have liked for them to explain to Bobby what was going on, and Dean glossed over explaining who Deja was as well in order to save time, because all of them expected the demon to track them down sooner or later, and they needed to be prepared, they needed to have some sort of plan ready for whenever they were found. Thankfully, after the Reader's Digest version of Deja's introduction and a quick explanation of what was going on, they managed to do just that with Bobby's help, and it didn't even involve the colt.

Every bullet mattered with the colt, and they only had a few left. They had other options they could go through before resulting to the gun.

Currently, Sam was enlightening himself with some demon lore in one of Bobby's books while Dean and Deja sort of lingered, Deja already knowing what she needed to about demons and Dean waiting for Sam to finish so he could get the simpler explanation without muddling through all the technical stuff. Bobby came around the corner, two small silver flasks in hand, and handed one to Dean.

"Here you go."

"What is this, holy water?" Dean asked, inspecting the flask.

"That one is. This is whiskey," Bobby said, screwing the top off the flask in his hand and taking a drink before he offered it to Dean, who didn't even hesitate to take a drink of his own.

"Bobby, thanks. Thanks for everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure if we should come," Dean said, handing the flask of whiskey back to Bobby.

"Nonsense—your daddy needs help," the veteran hunter scoffed.

"Well, yeah, but last time we saw you, I mean, you _did_ threaten to blast him full of buckshot. You cocked the shotgun and everything."

 _Hmm, well, glad to know I'm not the only one,_ Deja thought in amusement, silently watching the veteran hunter and Dean talking from her spot by the door to the library.

Bobby let out a long sigh. "Yeah, well, what can I say? John just has that effect on people."

 _That he does_.

Dean gave Bobby a slightly bittersweet smile. "Yeah, I guess he does."

"None of that matters now. All that matters is that you get him back," Bobby said seriously. Suddenly, Sam spoke up from where he sat at one of the many desks in Bobby's house.

"Bobby, this book…I've never seen anything like it," he commented. Bobby turned his attention to the youngest Winchester, making his way over to him.

"Key of Solomon? It's the real deal, all right."

"And these, uh, these protective circles, they really work?" Sam asked, pointing to the demon trap illustrated in the book.

"Hell yeah. You get a demon in one, they're trapped. Powerless. It's like a satanic roach motel."

An unsettling realization settled over Deja at Sam and Dean's continuous…well, for lack of a better way of putting it, _lack of knowledge_ about demons, and she looked between the two Winchester brothers. "You two haven't dealt with a lot of demons…have you?"

Dean shook his head. "Not really, no. Our usual's the bump in the night kind of monsters and ghosts, not _demons_. But that's why we've got you and Bobby. You've got your demon and witch specialization, and Bobby here—well, the man really knows his stuff," Dean told her before making his way over to the desk Bobby and Sam were gathered around, which prompted Deja to move closer as well.

"I'll tell you somethin' else, too. This is some serious crap you three've stepped in," Bobby told them seriously, meeting each of their gazes.

"Oh yeah? How's that?" Sam asked.

"Normal year I hear of, say, three demonic possessions. Maybe four, tops."

"Yeah?" Dean prompted Bobby to continue, brow furrowed in concern for whatever the man was going to say next.

"This year I heard of twenty-seven—so far. You get what I'm sayin? More and more demons are walkin' among us. A _lot_ more."

"Do you know why?" Sam asked.

"No. But I know it's something big. A storm's comin, and you boys, your friend, your daddy—you are _smack_ in the middle of it," Bobby warned them. Before anyone could reply or the conversation could continue any further, the dog outside started barking, catching Bobby's attention immediately. "Rumsfeld."

Bobby got up, making his way over to the window as everyone heard a chain rustling before the barking abruptly ended with a low whine. "What is it…" Bobby murmured, looking outside. Three seconds later, he whipped around to face the other three. "Somethin's wrong."

Bobby had hardly gotten the words out before there was a loud crash, and all four heads turned to see the door get kicked in by none other than Meg, who strutted in so casually she might as well have just stepped into her own home. Dean pulled the flask of holy water Bobby had given him out of his pocket as she approached, everyone tensing as she came to a stop a few paces away.

"No more crap, okay?" she said casually. Dean charged forward, quickly unscrewing the flask as he moved, but it didn't matter. With a simple wave of Meg's arm, Dean was sent flying through the air and crashed into one of Bobby's bookcases, falling to the ground unmoving.

"Dean!" Deja shouted as Sam moved protectively in front of Bobby, though she didn't rush to Dean's side.

There was a pixie in her way.

"I want the colt, Sam—the _real_ colt. Right now," Meg said dangerously. Deja stepped between Meg and Sam as Sam started to push Bobby back towards the library.

"We don't have it on us—we buried it," Sam spat, moving back with Bobby as Meg started advancing on them again. Deja took a measured step back for every two steps Meg took forward, keeping herself securely between the demon and Sam the entire time.

"Didn't I say no more _crap_ ," Meg sneered. "I swear, after everything I heard about you Winchesters and your Floy friend, I've got to tell you, I'm a little underwhelmed!"

 _Just wait for it, Meg, we like people thinking they've overestimated us_ , Deja thought.

"First Johnny tries to pawn off a _fake_ gun, and then he leaves the real gun with you three chuckleheads. Lackluster, man. I mean, did you _really_ think I wouldn't find you?" Meg asked, voice falsely sweet as Sam, Deja, and Bobby stopped moving. Sam and Bobby hitting their legs against the library's desk while Deja stood a hair's breath in front of Sam, still between him and Meg.

Suddenly, Deja smiled at her—a false smile filled with more threat than warmth as she saw Dean come around the corner behind Meg.

"Actually…we were counting on it," Dean announced smugly, staring the demon down as she turned to face him. Dean looked up pointedly, and Meg slowly followed his gaze to see that she was standing under a Solomon's Key demon trap painted onto the ceiling.

She was trapped.

"Gotcha," Dean announced.

* * *

Sam and Dean stood near the door of the library, staring at the now tied down Meg inside the demon trap in front of them while Deja paced around the trap, closely watching the demon within.

Dean could tell she was in her element, since she walked confidently and watched Meg with the cold, calculating confidence she'd watched the people who'd kidnapped Sam.

 _Good._

"You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask," Meg stated slyly. No one answered her, Deja continuing her pacing and Dean doing his best to keep from lunging at Meg and strangling the bitch.

Bobby came around the corner, a large container of salt still in hand. Dean didn't even look at him while he spoke. "I salted the doors and windows. If there are any demons out there, they ain't gettin' in."

Dean sighed softly, rising to his feet and moving to stand in front of Meg. Deja stood opposite him, right behind her. "Where's our father, Meg?"

"You didn't ask very nice," Meg said with a false pout.

Dean smiled harshly at her. "Where's our father, bitch?"

Meg pretended to be taken aback. "Jeez—you kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, I forgot…you _don't_."

"Hey, you think this is a freakin' game?" Dean shouted, getting right in her face. Deja continued circling Dean, coming around to his side. "Where is he? What did you do to him?"

"He died screaming. I killed him myself," Meg replied calmly, a sickening smile spreading across her face.

Dean felt his rage boil over, and his hand reared back, coming around with all his strength.

Deja caught his arm before his hand could connect with Meg's face, the collision making an audible smacking sound, though Deja still held firm enough his arm didn't go any further. Her fingers slipped up to wrap around his wrist, holding fast to his arm and holding his gaze.

"Dean," she said, tone warning. "I will make you sit this one out if I have to."

"Well don't stop him—hitting a girl…It's kind of a turn on," Meg purred. Deja didn't flinch, but Dean leaned away from Deja to hiss at Meg.

"You're no girl."

Deja suddenly pushed him away, which earned her a sharp look from Dean as he tried resisting her. "Bobby?" she asked, looking to the veteran hunter.

"Dean," Bobby said seriously, and Dean finally backed away, following Bobby and Sam back into the kitchen.

"You okay?" Sam asked softly.

"She's lying, he's not dead," Dean growled.

"Dean, you've got to be careful with her. Don't hurt her," Bobby reprimanded him. Dean was taken aback.

"Why?"

"Because she really is a girl, that's why."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"She's possessed. That's a human possessed by a demon, your friend can tell, can't you?"

Dean looked back at Deja and Meg, Meg staring past Deja—who stood right in front of her without saying a word—and right to Dean before he looked back at Bobby. "Are you trying to tell me there's an innocent girl trapped somewhere in there?" Bobby nodded, and Dean chewed on his lip thoughtfully for a few seconds. "That's actually good news."

He turned back to the library, pulling Deja a few steps away from Meg and leaning in to whisper in her ear. "If she's possessed, we can exorcise that demon out of her, right?"

Deja gave him an odd look. "That's what I was planning on doing, Dean. What did you think we were going to do—smack her around until she answered us?"

"Well…" Dean said, suddenly feeling stupid because of her tone. "Yes, actually."

"You'd be surprised how many demons are quick to talk when you're about to send them back to Hell," Deja told him. "Just, let me lead it from here on out, okay? You ask your questions, but let me control it, I know what I'm doing, Dean."

Dean glanced at Meg briefly, then turned his attention back to Deja, giving a small nod in agreement. "All right, then," he said, and the two of them came to stand in front of Meg again. Meg looked between the two of them, a sneer on her face again.

"Are you two quite done having your little lover's chat? I must say, Dean, you could do so much better," Meg remarked, purposely ignoring Deja and looking right at Dean. She cocked her head to the side. "Like a slutty stripper," she said innocently.

Before Dean could reply with a scathing remark, Deja stepped forward so she was right in Meg's line of sight, crouching down in front of her right at the edge of the Solomon's Key on the ceiling.

"You don't look at him, you look at me," Deja said harshly but steadily, holding Meg's gaze. Dean heard Sam and Bobby come in from the other room to see what was going on, but Deja's concentration didn't break away from Meg. Deja pointed over her shoulder at Dean. "He might be asking the questions…but _I'm_ leading this interrogation."

To Dean's immense surprise, the smile Meg wore actually faltered, and her bravado noticeably lessened. Deja noticed it too, tilting her head to the side as she observed Meg with that same cold, calculating look that usually disturbed Dean.

Right now, he was just happy to see it make Meg squirm.

"What's the matter, Meg? What happened to that cocky little bitch face of yours? All that arrogant confidence replaced with a little fear cause of what you've heard about me?" Deja goaded, her voice falsely sweet. She shook her head. "Nah, I won't give myself that much credit…but you know you might have bit off a _little_ more than you can chew."

"You have yet to live up to your reputation, whore," Meg hissed.

"We haven't been playing my game—now we are," Deja returned easily, rising to her feet again. "Congratulations on being the next contestant, Pixie Bitch."

"I'm trembling," Meg said with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

Deja gave her a humorless smile, starting her circling again the same instant flawless Latin started to spill from her lips. Meg's smile faltered, and she looked at Dean, a scowl on her face.

"An exorcism? Are you serious?"

Dean's smug smile grew, eyes glinting dangerously. "Oh, we're going for it, baby. Head spinning, projectile vomiting, the whole nine yards."

Deja continued her circling of Meg and reciting the exorcism flawlessly, her eyes flickering between Dean and Meg the entire time. Meg suddenly closed her eyes, a grimace of pain flashing across her face as a groan slipped past her lips.

"I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna rip the bones from your body," she hissed at them.

"No, you're gonna burn in Hell…unless you tell me where our dad is," Dean threatened, and Deja paused momentarily to give Meg the chance to answer. Meg didn't say anything. "Well, at least you'll get a nice tan."

Dean looked at Deja, and without any words having to be spoken she returned to her exorcism. Meg started to shake, glaring at Dean and at Deja whenever the woman appeared in her line of vision. She let out a shout, obviously clinging to control of the body she was possessing as she looked at Dean with hate in her eyes.

"He _begged_ for his life with tears in his eyes," Meg snarled as Deja came back around to the front of the circle. At her words, Dean's fury mounted once more, and he barely held himself back from lunging at her as Deja crouched down in front of the demon, eyes sharp and staring at her as she said something in the exorcism she was reciting with a sudden fervor, gaze unwavering from Meg. As soon as those Latin words left Deja's lips, Meg made a noticeable, long cry of pain, the end of her shout turning into words still aimed at Dean—and Sam, who was still standing back with Bobby and watching. "He _begged_ to see his sons one last time. That's when I slit his throa—"

Deja spoke louder over Meg's words, the Latin coming fast and harsh, like each word was the crack of a whip. Meg screamed in pain, the lights flickering, and Bobby stepped forward, to Dean's surprise.

"What the hell are you doin? That's not the words to the exorcism," Bobby interrupted, catching both Sam and Dean's attention. Deja didn't tear her gaze from Meg, though she did pause in her reciting to answer him.

"I'm taking a few liberties with the phrasings," Deja returned evenly.

"Now's not the time to experiment, lady, the exorcism might not work if you choose the wrong words," Bobby fumed, though Deja spoke over him.

"I'm _not_ experimenting—this isn't my first rodeo. I know what I'm doing…and before you protest more, its only hurting the demon part," Deja replied, keeping her gaze locked on Meg. "Now, Meg—we're not here for your rehearsed lie. The truth, _now_."

Meg grit her teeth, and actually growl ripping up her throat before she responded. "I already said, I _killed_ him."

Deja stood up sharply, her Latin words continuing, still spoken with intensity that got Dean's adrenaline pumping even more. Once she resumed her pacing, Dean stepped forward again, getting in Meg's face.

"For your sake, I hope you're lyin'. Cause if it's true, I swear to God, I will march into Hell _myself_ and I will slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, _so help me God_!" Dean promised, jaw clenched tight. He was just starting to straighten again when a wind picked up to match Deja's exorcism, and the lights flickered just briefly. Dean looked back at Meg, who was shaking openly and breathing heavily by now, and only spoke when she let out another cry of pain, looking like she was starting to lose her battle for control. "Where is he?"

"You just won't take _dead_ for an answer, will you?" Meg rasped.

" _Where is he_?" Dean seethed, starting to pace himself. He and Deja were about to cross paths in their circulations.

" _Dead_!" Meg shouted, and Dean finally snapped, his façade cracking wide open for a few moments as he got right in her face and screamed at her.

"No, he's _not_! He's _not_ dead, _he can't be_!" Dean argued, voice cracking several times from the intensity of his words.

He heard Deja's exorcism stop momentarily and he looked up when he felt her hand on his shoulder blade, catching Sam staring at him like he'd never seen him before.

"What are you looking at?" Dean asked harshly, retreating rapidly back into his shell. Deja was already moving past him in her circle, her hand gliding across his back as he turned his attention to her. "Keep going," he ordered, though he didn't need to. Though her eyes were on him now, she resumed her reciting without missing a beat, her words not quite as intense now, though still fervent and fluent.

As she reached the end of another sentence, pausing for breath, Meg let out a long shout, and the chair she was strapped to slid to the edge of the demon trap towards Deja, who didn't even flinch, continuing her reciting and her circling as Meg started to scrape rapidly around the inside of the trap, shouting in pain. As she came back around, Deja pulled Dean back a few steps to avoid getting hit by Meg's chair, still going.

"He will be!" Meg suddenly shrieked, and Dean's heart stopped just as quickly as Deja stopped reciting, which was before Dean could even turn his gaze to her.

"What?" he almost shouted.

"He's not dead, but he will be after what we do to him," Meg said ominously, head rolling to look from Deja to Dean.

"How do we know we're telling the truth?"

"You don't."

"Deja," Dean said sharply, and before Deja could open her mouth, Meg spoke again.

"A building! Okay? A building in Jefferson City."

"Missouri? Where, where, an address," Dean demanded, gaze riveted on the demon in front of him.

"I don't know," Meg said almost desperately.

"And the demon, where is it?" Sam added, stepping forward from where he'd been standing with Bobby.

"I don't _know_! I swear," Meg snapped. "That's everything, that's all I know."

Dean stared at her several more long moments, deciding whether or not she was telling the truth before he looked up at Deja, their eyes meeting. He didn't even have to say what he was thinking, she just knew, and it seemed she agreed with him, going right into the end of the exorcism without any hesitation.

"What? I told you the truth!" Meg practically shrieked at Deja, though Dean called her attention back to him.

"I don't care," Dean dismissed her protest flippantly.

"You son of a bitch, you promised!" Meg growled.

"I lied!" Dean snapped.

"Wait!" Sam protested, interrupting Deja's reciting and drawing everyone's attention to him. "We can still use her, find out where the demon is."

"She doesn't know," Dean said, waving off the suggestion.

"She _lied_ ," Sam insisted, anger creeping into his tone for what felt like the millionth time in the past week or so.

"Sam, there's an innocent girl trapped somewhere in there, we've got to help her," Dean said sharply.

"Dean," Deja suddenly said softly from her spot by Meg. Dean looked up at her, not liking the solemn expression on her face. "The only way we'll be able to help her is freeing her from the demon—she won't survive afterwards."

Dean was taken aback, staring at her as he stepped forward. "What are you talking about?"

"Yeah, slut…tell him…" Meg rasped, glaring at Deja, who stubbornly ignored the demon beside her.

"She fell out of a seventh story window, Dean, and God knows what else has happened to her. The only reason that girl's still alive right now is the supernatural being inside her. As soon as it's gone, those injuries are gonna catch up with her. She won't make it." Deja looked at Meg, expression emotionless. "But she will be free of the demon before she dies, at least."

"Ooh, so icy," Meg goaded. "Now you're starting to live up to your reputation, there, Floy."

"You're not seriously talking about killing that girl, that human being, are you?" Bobby asked incredulously. Dean didn't look at him, catching Deja's gaze. Her expression softened just enough he could see a flicker of herself under this cold layer, and he shook his head.

"We're not going to leave her like this. We're gonna put her out of her misery," Dean said firmly, nodding at Deja. "Deja."

Deja inclined her head to acknowledge him, and she resumed the exorcism, stopping her circling at last and stepping back to stand beside him, staring down at Meg as she let the last of the Latin flow forth. Meg started to seize in the chair, and it screeched forward, coming to a stop in front of Dean and Deja as Meg's eyes turned pure black and she stared hatefully for several long moments before she threw back her head with a scream, a plume of black smoke billowing furiously out of her mouth towards the ceiling. The lights surged and flickered furiously, the wind in the room picking up substantially as they watched the smoke stream forth before it abruptly ended, and Meg fell forward, limp with her head hanging against her chest, the entire spectacle abruptly over.

As soon as the smoke disappeared, Deja dropped to her knees in front of Meg, the ruthless side of her disappearing as quickly as it tended to come as she gently tilted Meg's head up just enough to see her. Blood abruptly dripped out of Meg's mouth, and Deja cradled the girl's head carefully in her hand.

"C'mon, sweetheart, open your eyes," Deja murmured. A hardly audible wheeze reached Dean's ears, and Deja seemed to sag slightly in relief. "Guys, help me with her," she ordered them as the girl started to lift her head on her own. Dean turned to Bobby.

"Call 911, get some water and blankets," he told Bobby before he and Sam hurried to Deja's side, undoing the ropes that had restrained Meg to the chair moments ago.

"Thank you…" the girl croaked as the ropes dropped to the ground.

"Shh, shh, just take it easy, all right?" Sam told her gently. Dean shifted to put a hand under her leg and another on her back, looking to Sam to mirror him while Deja backed up for a moment.

"Come on, let's get her down," Dean told Sam, and together the two of them lowered the groaning girl to the floor, laying her down as gently as they could.

"I've got you, I've got you," Sam reassured her as she went down, gasping for air and in clear agony. "It's okay, it's okay."

"A year…" the girl breathed out.

"What?" Sam asked.

"It's been a year…" the girl repeated.

"Just take it easy," Sam told her instead of acknowledging her statement. Deja crouched down next to Dean, her hand coming down to cover one of his, which only surprised him briefly, and he didn't pull away. This sudden silent openness between them—while something that was new to him and sometimes made him feel uncomfortable with how vulnerable it made him feel at times—was needed and welcome with everything going on right now.

"I've been awake for some of it…" the girl continued to whisper, trying to get her story out as the life slowly dribbled out of her. "I couldn't move my own body. The things I did…it's a nightmare."

If she was awake for some of it, then maybe…

"Was it telling us the truth about our dad?" Dean asked. Sam looked at Dean like he was disturbed Dean would interrogate the girl while she was dying.

But they had to know.

"Dean," Sam protested, but Deja waved him off.

At least she was on Dean's side with all of this.

"We need to know," Dean reinforced, sparing his brother a glance before he looked back at Meg.

"Yes," the girl rasped. "But it wants…you to know…that…they want you to come for him."

"If Dad's still alive, none of that matters," Dean murmured.

Bobby returned at that moment, handing Dean the water and Sam the blankets so they could make the girl more comfortable. Bobby and Sam wrapped the blankets around her while Deja and Dean helped the girl sit up enough so she could drink the water, Dean holding the glass to her lips and slowly tipping it up so she could take a few sips.

"Where is the demon we're looking for?" Sam asked once she was done taking a drink.

"Not there," she said simply. "Other ones. Awful ones."

"Where are they keeping our dad?" Dean asked carefully.

"By the r…river…sunrise…" she breathed, voice flickering out.

"Sunrise? What does that mean?" Dean asked, but the girl had stopped moving. "What does that mean?" he asked again, but Deja squeezed his hand to stop him and get his attention. He looked at Deja, and she simply shook her head.

It was too late. The girl was gone. They had to work with what they had.

He couldn't stop looking at the girl, her glassy eyes looking back at him, like…like…

Before his brain could come up with a proper haunting analogy, Deja reached forward and tenderly closed the girl's eyelids, breaking the spell her empty eyes seemed to hold over him. At the same time, her other hand threaded its fingers through hers, and she held his hand even tighter.

At least she'd been freed of the demon.

* * *

They left for Missouri not long after the girl died, no time for much of a goodbye or for Deja to deal with any collateral from the girl's death.

She wasn't blind—she could see how watching her die, knowing that he'd chosen to exorcise the demon in the end, was messing with Dean.

Unfortunately, they had to leave immediately since there were paramedics on their way, so they said their goodbyes to Bobby and pretty much hit the ground running to Jefferson City, Deja following Dean in the Impala again in another race against time.

Who knew how long the demons would keep John alive?

In an abandoned corner of an old railroad yard by the river, they parked their cars once they reached Jefferson, all three of them silently getting ready to get moving in their own ways. Dean was loading and checking his guns while stuffing a duffel bag full of essentials, Sam was looking through the book he'd been looking at while they were at Bobby's—a book Bobby had given him to use in case they still needed it, and Deja was checking her usual weapons, grabbing some holy water and flipping through her hunter's journal for a quick refresher on a few entries about demons, just to make sure she didn't forget any tricks that might come in handy in the next however many hours, or even days.

"You've been quiet," Sam suddenly stated, and Deja looked up to see him gazing at Dean.

 _Of course he's been quiet. Your father's being held captive by demons and could be killed at any moment, and we just exorcised a demon from a girl, which caused her to die, and he made the call. He's not made of stone, Sam,_ Deja thought, though she kept all of it to herself.

Dean knew he had her. And she hoped he knew she understood. Hell, they'd had maybe a little too much in common back there, tag-teaming exorcising the demon almost without any verbal communication, effortlessly interrogating and even somewhat torturing it for answers and agreeing with each other's call every step of the way.

As frightening as the thought could be—she knew how cold and even heartless she could get at times when she put herself in that kind of mindless—it was also kind of a relief to work so flawlessly with someone in a high stress situation like that, for them to just mesh.

It was refreshing…addicting, even. And she secretly hoped they could do it again, though maybe without the possessed person dying the next time.

"Just getting ready," Dean answered, though it took him a while to give Sam that answer.

"He's gonna be fine, Dean," Sam replied, watching Dean closely as the older Winchester continued going through the trunk, expression stoic.

Deja knew better to poke right now. No comforting touches when he was trying to build up his wall to prepare himself for whatever they found. She could make the wall raise up in the instant she needed it too, but it seemed Dean still needed to build it up.

At least he did right now. She was pretty sure a few chunks of his metaphorical wall had been knocked down over the past few hours. He was doing damage control, building it back up so he could survive whatever came next.

And if the wall didn't hold…well, then he had Deja.

Dean didn't answer Sam, and _thankfully_ Sam let the subject drop, turning back to the book Bobby had lent him. After a few moments, Sam pulled out a piece of chalk, and Deja caught a glimpse of the symbol he was looking at as he approached the open trunk of the Impala, getting ready to start marking on the glossy—well, glossy underneath its current layer of dust and dirt—black paint.

Deja was there in a second flat before Dean could notice.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there, buddy," Deja stopped Sam, grabbing his wrist before he could make a mark.

"What? I'm just—I'm trying to—" Sam started to explain, but Deja interrupted him.

I see the symbol in the book, I get what you're trying to do—I got a better idea…also, let me see that symbol, I might have a better symbol, too," Deja told him, peering around his arm to get a better look at the symbol he was wanting to draw on the Impala's trunk. Dean leaned around the open trunk, looking at his brother suspiciously.

"What are you doing?" he asked, eyeing the chalk in his hand distrustfully.

"Don't worry, just…go back to checking guns, I'll tell you when we figure this out," Deja told him with a wave of her hand. She ran her finger over the Latin in the book, then slowly nodded her head. "All right, I got something better for you to use, and you can put it _inside_ so you don't mark on the paint job."

"What about my car's paint job?" Dean asked sharply, now coming all the way around the trunk to approach his brother while Deja made her way back to her car, pulling out her hunter's journal before making her way back.

"Sam had an idea to put symbols on the trunk to keep any contents inside safe from demons. It's a good idea, I did that for my trunk—I carved this symbol on the top and bottom of the inside of the trunk, and painted it for good measure, a long time ago. It'll make it like a lock box they'll never get into. Maybe even keep them in your trunk, in your case, since your trunk is big enough to fit a few bodies," Deja quipped. She opened her hunter's journal to the right place, showing Sam the symbol she had sketched on the page. "Use that one—trust me."

"So? We don't _have_ to," Dean protested when Sam moved towards the trunk to start drawing Deja's symbol inside.

"It'll give us a place to hide the colt while we go get Dad," Sam added, and Deja stilled.

She hadn't known Sam was thinking _that_.

Oh, she could practically _feel_ the tension between the two brothers suddenly skyrocket.

"What are you talking about? We're bringing the colt with us," Dean argued.

"We can't, Dean. We've only got three bullets left. We can't just use them on any demon, we've got to use them on _the_ demon."

"No, we have to save Dad, Sam, okay?" Dean said forcefully, coming to stand beside Sam while Sam continued drawing the symbol inside the trunk. "We're gonna need all the help we can get!"

"Dean, you know how pissed Dad would be if we used all the bullets?" Sam asked, though it was clearly a rhetorical question.

John would no doubt be furious.

"Dean, he wouldn't want us to bring the gun," Sam said evenly.

"I don't care, Sam!" Dean suddenly shouted. "I don't care what Dad wants, okay? And since when do you care what Dad wants?"

" _We_ want to kill this demon! You used to want that, too! Hell, I mean, you're the one who came and got me at school! You're the one who dragged me back into this, Dean, I'm just trying to finish it!" Sam shouted right back. Dean laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

"Well, you and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that?" Dean said, voice suddenly soft as he stared his brother down, those emotional barriers reinforcing themselves before Deja's eyes. "You both can't wait to sacrifice yourself for this thing. But you know what? _I'm_ gonna be the one to bury you."

When Sam still didn't say anything, Dean shook his head. "You're selfish, you know that? You don't care about anything but revenge."

"That's not true, Dean," Sam said, voice a little softer now. Dean scoffed, but Sam just continued speaking. "I want Dad back. But they are _expecting_ us to bring this gun. They get the gun, they will kill us all. That colt is our only leverage, and you know it, Dean. We _cannot_ bring that gun. We can't."

"Fine," Dean replied shortly.

"I'm _serious_ , Dean," Sam said harshly.

"I said _fine_ , Sam," Dean snapped, pulling the colt out from inside of his jacket pocket and showing it to Sam before he placed it in the now warded trunk, making a show of the action for his brother's sake. Sam didn't say anything more, he just gathered his stuff and threw it into the back seat, basically ready to go.

Deja rested her head against the top of her Corvette, heaving a sigh.

So much spiraling out of control right now, and she didn't have enough time to play referee between these two and keep them from tearing each other apart in their desperation to reach all these different goals.

She just hoped they'd be able to make it through this relatively in one piece.


	22. Chapter 21: Devil's Trap, Part 2

It was Dean who figured out what Meg had meant by _sunrise_ , spotting the Sunrise Apartments right across the street from the river before Sam or Deja did. It was also Dean who figured out their plan for how to get inside. They couldn't just walk inside because the demons, who probably knew what they looked like, could be possessing anyone, and there would be an entire building full of human shields. So, Dean decided one of them should go in and pull the fire alarm, and when the city finally responded, they would swipe some firemen outfits to slip unnoticed inside and figure out which apartment was the apartment with their father by looking for the only one that still had people inside.

Sam and Dean were going to be the ones swiping the firemen outfits and going inside. Deja was currently scoping out the rest of the building and looking for another way inside and even out of the building, just in case Sam and Dean needed another way.

Of course, the most obvious choice was the fire escape on the side of the building.

Making sure nobody was looking her way, Deja very quietly started to climb the fire escape, wondering if Sam and Dean were already inside and doing her best to ignore the sounds of the crowd out front and the fire trucks, filtering out that general noise for any other important sounds like the click of a gun's safety, sounds that would let her know she was in danger.

Moving slowly, Deja made sure to be extra cautious around the windows, peeking around corners and ducking underneath the windows at times to escape being noticed.

Once she was about two floors up—which took some time, with how cautious she was being because she loved life and wasn't quite ready to part with it just yet—she quickly found out what floor she needed to be at, and judging by the ruckus she could faintly hear, what room as well.

Abandoning the caution she'd been exercising because now she _knew_ what room the demons were in, Deja hurried up the fire escape, still making an effort not to make too much noise since she didn't want to draw unwanted attention from the civilians or firemen to herself, either. Despite still exercising some caution, she made it to the window she was headed for and looked inside to see John Winchester tied town to the bed inside at the same time Sam and Dean walked through the bedroom door.

Deja knocked on the window, causing Sam and Dean to jump and Dean to almost draw a gun on her, though when they both registered it was here they relaxed, Dean hurrying to John's side while Sam moved to open the window for Deja. Once the window was open, Sam's attention was immediately dominated by Dean checking to see if John was even still alive.

It seemed like forever Deja and Sam waited in tense silence for Dean to give a verdict before Dean finally straightened. "He's still breathing," Dean announced. Instantly, he started to shake John, who didn't respond. "Dad, wake up. Dad!"

Dean pulled back, pulling out his pocket knife, but before he could cut even one of John's limbs free of the bed, Sam and Deja both stopped him.

"Wait, wait," Sam said, while Deja simply reached out and pulled slightly at his jacket to get his attention.

"What?" Dean asked, irritated. They were on a clock, but still.

"Possession, Dean, it can happen to anyone. We've got to be safe," Deja told him, looking to Sam, who had already pulled out his own small vial of holy water.

"Are you nuts?" Dean asked, about to go back to cutting their father free.

"If the demon who does the possessing is strong enough, it could even happen to your father, Dean. We've just got to check," Deja assured him. Before Dean could argue any more, Sam splashed the water on John several times. There was no hiss, no sizzle.

But John _did_ finally stir.

 _Oh, of course, the shaking and the shouting doesn't rouse him, but a few drizzles of water on his chest does._

John's head lifted off of the bed slightly. "Sam?" he rasped, dazed. "Wh…why are you splashin' water on me?"

Sam let out a strained laugh, and Dean leaned over their now conscious father, checking him over again. "Dad, are you okay?"

"They've been druggin' me," John rumbled, voice slurred slightly to match the statement. "Where's the colt?"

"Don't worry, Dad, it's safe," Sam said, standing back while Dean untied John from the bed. Deja stayed by the window, unsure if they were going to try and go back out the apartment building's door or go out the fire escape.

The door would be ideal, since John seemed to be in pretty bad shape, but the fire escape was the more _incognito_ choice.

"Good boys…good boys…" John mumbled, sounding like he was about to slip out of consciousness again.

Once Dean finally had John untied, Sam and Dean supported him together, one arm draped around each boy's shoulders while Deja led the way to the door, their first line of defense in case they were jumped.

However, she didn't even make it to the door out of the apartment before she knew they were going to be taking the incognito route, as they had hardly crossed halfway across the kitchen towards the door when it was suddenly kicked in.

On instinct, Deja reached behind her and shoved them back.

"Go, go, go!" she ordered, the three of them backpedaling into the bedroom once more. Deja slammed the door shut, holding it shut while Sam passed John off to Dean so he could grab the salt and put a salt line in front of the door before the demons who had just busted into the apartment could break it down, too.

"The fire escape, go, now," she told Sam once the salt line was down, taking the salt container from him and waiting for Sam, Dean, and John to maneuver themselves out onto the fire escape—which was actually difficult with John's condition—before she too went out the window, quickly salting the window sill behind her before she went any further. By the time she was following the Winchesters down the fire escape they were two levels below her, but she didn't mind, trying to keep an eye out while quickly rushing down the fire escape, her vial of holy water in hand so she was prepared for any demon that tried to jump them.

She practically slid down the ladder to catch up to Sam and Dean, Sam several paces ahead of John and Dean so he could check to see if the coast was clear, and Deja a few steps behind Dean.

Deja and Dean were both too far away for an immediate reaction when Sam was suddenly tackled to the ground by a man in leather—a demon, considering their current situation—who started punching him over and over, and Dean put John down to rush to Sam's defense. Deja, however, wasn't burdened by an injured grown man, and she was already descending on the pair, holy water in hand. She threw the holy water at the demon before it could register she'd gotten close enough to do so, allowing Sam a moment to catch his breath as she launched into the first exorcism that popped into her head.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundis spiritus, omnis satanica potest—" she rushed, though she didn't get any farther than that, as the demon had recovered from the holy water assault, and with the same demon powers meg had displayed back at Bobby's house, he sent her careening into the semi that was parked not even six steps from where Sam had been tackled to the ground.

Deja hit hard, the breath knocked completely out of her and her head instantly pulsing in pain as the world spun and momentarily faded around her, completely dazed. She missed the next few seconds of what happened as she struggled for her bearings, but when she was able to focus on her surroundings again she could see Dean had been tossed aside as well, and the demon was once again wailing on Sam, blood pouring from Sam's mouth and nose.

Deja staggered to her feet, restraining from making any noise of anger or pain as she simply put her shoulder down and tackled the demon off of Sam football style, like she'd recently tackled the vampire that had been approaching Sam. The two of them rolled, the demon clutching onto her and to her dismay ending up on top, pinning her to the ground underneath him as he pulled out a bowie knife. The next few seconds seemed to slow to a crawl as her heart rate skyrocketed and the adrenaline pulsed through her entire system in the blink of an eye.

That blade was coming down.

She was pinned.

She was going to die if she didn't do something, and she only had one card she could play, a card she didn't _want_ to play…one she only resorted to in a backed-into-a-corner, no-way-out situation like this.

 _God help me, don't—_

Before she could even finish the thought, a gunshot rang out and the demon froze, blood spattering the ground beside them as Deja felt that familiar surge of raw energy she'd felt when the lead vampire of that nest was killed, and as the demon fell sideways off of her in the direction the bullet had been traveling, Deja turned to see Dean kneeling on the ground, not all the way to his feet yet, colt in hand and still smoking.

His hand wasn't so much as shaking, face only composed of sheer, steely determination.

With a soft groan of relief, Deja let her head fall back to the ground.

She'd thank him for saving her life later.

Right now, she had to get her heartrate back to normal and bring herself back down from her near-death experience before her hyper-sensitivity got someone who didn't need hurt shot or stabbed or something like that.

And they had to get as far from Jefferson City and the demons within as possible.

That too.

* * *

They drove as fast as they could out of Jefferson City, though they were still in the state of Missouri itself when they finally stopped, finding an abandoned cabin in the quite literal middle of nowhere. John was given the old bed to rest on, Sam took a little time to clean himself up, Dean insisted on making sure Deja wasn't bleeding out of her head or something—apparently after Chicago he didn't trust her telling him she wasn't injured, and all of the doors and windows had been salted to keep any demons who might happen to find them _out_. Dean kept checking on John, unable to truly leave his father's side since he was in so rough of shape and Dean had come so close to losing him.

Deja didn't blame him, though. Instead, she helped check their temporary sanctuary's defenses one more time before she let herself finally rest for a moment, sitting down in one of the rickety chairs in the weathered kitchen.

A few minutes after she sat down, while Sam was salting the last window in that very room, Dean came out of John's room again, wiping his hands of something with a rag.

Most likely blood.

"How is he?" Sam asked.

"He just needed a little rest, that's all," Dean said quietly. "How are you?"

Sam took a deep breath. "I'll survive."

He was pretty banged up, a nasty shiner taking up almost half the right side of his face and his lip noticeably split near the left corner. His nose was a little swollen too.

Dean leaned against the table Deja was sitting at and Sam turned around, looking absolutely exhausted. "Hey, you don't think we were followed here, do you?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. I don't think so," Dean admitted. "I mean…we couldn't have found a more out-of-the-way place to hole up."

"Yeah…" Sam sighed. "Hey, uh…Dean, you, um…you and Deja…saved my life back there."

Deja smiled faintly at Dean. "And you saved mine, too."

Dean returned the faint smile, though it didn't _quite_ reach his eyes.

Almost, though.

"So I guess you're glad I brought the gun, huh?" Dean asked. Sam shifted a little uncomfortably.

"Man, I'm tryin' to thank you, here."

Dean nodded, looking away from both of them. "You're welcome."

Sam started to make his way out of the room after a lengthy silence, but Deja could tell that he wasn't going to get all the way out the door because Dean's features were drawn into a thoughtful frown, the deep kind that let her know he was about to say something important and maybe even personal or vulnerable.

"Hey, Sam," Dean called softly, stopping Sam from leaving the room without even turning around.

"Yeah?" Sam asked.

"You know that guy I shot? There was a person in there," Dean said, voice dropping noticeably. Deja tried to look Dean in the eyes, but he couldn't seem to look at her, not yet, anyway.

"You didn't have a choice, Dean," Sam tried to console him. Dean shook his head, though the action was almost imperceptible.

"Yeah, I know, that's not what bothers me."

Sam shifted, looking a little disturbed by Dean's statement, but Deja…Deja felt she might know where this was going. "Then what does?" Sam asked.

Dean finally looked up, meeting Deja's gaze as he spoke, voice still low, expression slightly glazed over as he seemed to be here in the present and also staring far away. "Killing that guy, killing Meg…I didn't hesitate, I didn't even flinch."

Deja gazed right back at him, for once not keeping any of her walls up or controlling her expression. He understood. He understood the drive she'd had to do what she'd done when Sam had been kidnapped, when those people put a blade to Dean's throat and threatened to kill him. He saw how she could have killed two people back to back without any reaction.

Maybe he even saw himself in that, now.

He understood.

"For you or Dad, the things I'm willing to do or kill, it's just, ah…" Dean continued, looking away from Deja and letting his gaze drop to his lap. "It scares me, sometimes."

Deja shifted in her seat, leaning forward and placing a hand on his knee. "Dean…" she murmured softly, letting her hand move up towards his arm. Before she could say anything else or even get him to look at her again, a fourth voice entered the mix.

"It shouldn't," John said, and as soon as Deja heard his voice her hand dropped away and she leaned back. Dean and Sam looked up at their father as well, who looked weathered and beat to hell, but was walking around on his own, at least. "You did good."

Dean looked at John in timid surprise, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're not mad?"

"For what?" John asked.

"Using a bullet," Dean said simply.

"Mad?" John shook his head. "I'm proud of you."

Now Dean was really taken aback—Deja was too, a little. From the impression she'd gotten of John so far, that hadn't been the reaction she was expecting.

John nodded towards Sam. "You know, Sam and I, we can get pretty obsessed. But you—you…you watch out for this family. You always have."

Dean debating John's words for a moment, lips twitching briefly towards a half smile before he finally seemed to accept what John was saying. "Thanks."

Dean had just gotten the word out of his mouth when a strong wind suddenly picked up, and all four of them looked around as the lights noticeably surged.

 _Awe, shit…Just one break, God, can we just get one break? One night?_

John moved to the window, Sam and Dean flanking him while Deja rose to her feet. "It found us, it's here," John announced after looking outside for a few seconds.

"The demon?" Sam asked. Deja grimaced.

They weren't ready for this, half of them weren't in a state to fight.

"Sam, lines of salt in front of every window, every door," John commanded.

"Already did it," Sam returned.

"Well, check it, okay?" John told him, and Sam left the room to start working his way back, checking each door along the way no doubt. "Dean, you got the gun?" John asked. Dean nodded.

"Yeah."

"Give it to me."

"Yeah, Sam tried to shoot the demon in Salvation, and it vanished," Dean informed him, fishing the gun out of the back of his jeans.

"This is me, I won't miss. Now hurry," John told him gruffly.

Dean paused, the gun held in his hands as he stared down at it thoughtfully. The hairs on the back of Deja's neck stood on end, not in her _oh there's something supernatural here that's really bad_ way, but in a gut feeling kind of way, something that told her, just by watching Dean, that something was wrong.

"Son, please," John stressed when Dean didn't immediately hand over the gun. A dark look had fallen across Dean's face, and it was aimed entirely at John as he suddenly took two steps _back_. "Give me the gun. What are you doing, Dean?"

"He'd be furious," Dean said quietly.

"What?" John hissed.

"That I wasted a bullet. He wouldn't be proud of me, he'd tear me a new one," Dean said, voice getting more confident with each word as he shook his head. John said nothing, and Dean raised the colt, clicking the safety off and aiming it right at John.

"You're not my dad."

As soon as those words passed Dean's lips, Deja shifted where she stood in the kitchen, coming to stand behind Dean, practically glued to his side as she gazed warily at John.

"Dean, it's me," John said fervently.

"I know my dad better than anyone, and you ain't him," Dean practically growled.

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Stay back."

At that moment, Sam returned to the room to see Dean and Deja standing together with the gun pointed at John.

The absurd thought crossed her mind that the scene almost looked like she was a siren telling Dean to shoot John so they could run away together, but she pushed that thought aside, heartbeat starting to pick up again as the reality of the situation started to settle in.

"Dean, what the hell is going on?" Sam asked, staring between Dean and Deja and Not-John.

"Your brother's lost his mind," John said flatly.

"He's not dad," Dean returned a slight rasp to his voice.

"What?" Sam asked, bemused.

"I think he's possessed," Dean elaborated. "I think he's been possessed since we rescued him."

"Don't listen to him, Sammy," John said sharply.

"Dean, how do you know?" Sam asked.

"He-he's different," Dean replied shortly, stumbling slightly over the words.

"You know, we don't have time for this! Sam, if you want to kill this demon, you've got to trust me," John said fiercely.

Sam looked between his brother and his father, clearly torn. Deja didn't get a say in whether or not it was John, she didn't know him well enough, but she was standing with Dean either way. She trusted Dean's judgement, and if Dean said John wasn't John, then he wasn't John.

"Sam," John repeated, looking at the youngest Winchester expectantly.

Sam continued to look between the two, seeing his father's…too calm face, and his brother, fighting back a storm of emotions to be holding a gun on his father, the colt trembling slightly in his grip and Deja close to his side in support.

"No," Sam finally said softly, and he moved to stand on the other side of Dean. "No."

Several unreadable expressions crossed John's face as he looked between the two boys, showing open contempt for Deja. "Fine," he whispered. "You're both so sure, go ahead. Kill me," John said softly, bowing his head.

Dean wavered. His entire body trembled, and Deja felt it because she was pressed next to him. The gun dipped lower, and a few tense moments passed.

"I thought so," John said, his tone entirely different.

When he looked up and Deja saw his eyes, her first instinct was to claw the gun from Dean's hand and shoot John herself, and it was purely a survival instinct.

Her brain didn't even get to finish choosing that as her go to move before a powerful surge went through the room, and Sam, Dean, and Deja were all flung in different directions, pinned to different walls by a force they could not see. The colt skidded across the ground, far out of their reach, and Deja felt panic well in her throat as she looked at Dean, who was almost directly across from her.

She felt trapped, like an insect pinned to the display board while it was still alive, or a beetle caught under a glass.

 _No, no, no, no, no…_

John—no, _the_ demon (Sam had said it had yellow eyes)—picked the colt off the ground, heaving a bored sigh. "What a pain in the ass this thing's been."

"It's you, isn't it," Sam growled, and the demon smiled at him in answer. "We've been looking for you for a long time."

"Well, you found me," the demon said, though it was in a belittling tone of voice.

"But the holy water," Sam said in confusion.

"If the demon's powerful enough it's not going to hurt it," Deja said in a low tone of voice, glaring steadily at the demon that had them trapped. It turned to Deja like she was an afterthought, pointing the colt at her.

"You're that Floy girl, right? The demon expert?" he scoffed. "You've made a few ripples among my kind. I might play with you a little longer—simply on principle."

He turned away from her dismissively, and Deja felt the force that was holding her to the wall push harder, and she grunted in pain as she was crushed against the wall, struggling to catch her breath for a few seconds.

"I'm gonna kill you," Sam snarled as the demon turned his attention back to the two Winchesters.

"Oh…that would be a neat trick," the demon mocked, setting the gun down on the table near Sam. "In fact, here: make the gun float to you, there, physic boy."

 _If I wasn't pinned by your damn demon powers, unable to do anything…_

Nothing happened, of course, and the demon chuckled. "Well, this is fun. I could've killed you a hundred times today, but this…this is worth the wait." The demon turned to look at Dean, staring him down. "Your dad? He's in here with me. Trapped inside his own meat suit. He says hi, by the way. He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the _iron_ in your blood."

"Let him go," Dean hissed under his breath. "Or I swear to God—"

"What?" the demon interrupted. "What are you and _God_ gonna do? You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice."

Dean glared at the demon with pure hatred in his eyes as the demon came closer, leaning in. "You know that little exorcism of yours? That was my daughter."

"Who, Meg?" Dean scoffed.

"The one in the alley? That was my boy. You understand?"

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean groaned.

"What? You're the only one that can have a family? You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family?" The demon paused, and though Deja couldn't see the look on his face, she saw the hatred in Dean's eyes spike to impossible heights. "Oh...that's right. I forgot. I did. Still, two wrongs…don't make a right."

"You son of a bitch," Dean hissed.

"I want to know why—why did you do it?" Sam grunted from his spot against the wall.

"You mean why did I kill mommy and pretty, little Jess?" the demon asked, turning to face Sam.

"Yeah."

The demon looked back at Dean. "You know, I never told you this…but Sam was gonna ask her to marry him. Been shoppin' for rings and everything," he told Dean before turning to Sam. "You want to know why? Because they got in the way."

"In the way of what," Sam snarled.

"Of my plans for you, Sammy—you, and all the children like you."

Dean's eyes moved rapidly between his little brother and the demon three inches from his face, and he took a deep breath and spoke in a sarcastic, bitter tone. "Listen, you mind just getting this over with, huh? Cause I really can't stand the monologuing," Dean complained, and Deja felt her heart stop for a few seconds.

 _Don't you dare—don't you dare_ , she silently chanted at Dean.

He was riling the demon up, drawing his attention away from Sam and towards Dean instead.

"Funny!" the demon snapped, turning back to him. "But that's all part of your M.O. isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain, mask the truth."

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked with a bitter smile. "What's that?"

"You know, you fight, and you fight for this family, but the truth is, they don't _need_ you. Not like you need them." Dean stared right back at the demon, but to Deja, it was clear the demon had struck a nerve, nailed one of Dean's deepest pains right on the head. "Sam…he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's _ever_ shown you."

Dean's smile turned wicked, malicious. "I bet you're real proud of your kids, too, huh? Oh, wait, I forgot…I _wasted_ them," Dean said in a mocking tone, his half-smile far crueler than she'd ever seen it.

 _Dean…Dean…Dean, don't…_

There were a few moments of tense silence as the demon said nothing, took a step back from Dean, bowed his head, and…

Dean suddenly cried out in pain, doubling over, struggling to hold back his cries but failing miserably. Deja couldn't see clearly what was going on, the demon was partially in the way—

"Dean!" Sam shouted. "No!"

Deja saw Dean bleeding from his chest, the blood coming right through his shirt, and her heart lodged in her throat as Dean panted, the blood just picking up speed in it's flow.

"Dean!" Deja nearly shrieked, pushing back against the force that held her immobile. " _Dean_!"

"Dad!" Dean cried out, looking up at John as the blood started to come from his mouth as well. His face was twisted in pain and fear and emotional agony, but he still reached out to his father. "Dad, don't you let it kill me!" Dean pleaded, and Deja felt tears pool in her eyes.

Dean arched against the wall as a fresh wave of stronger pain hit him, his blood soaking his shirt.

"Dean!" Sam and Deja both shouted, and Deja gathered all the will she had to fight back against this demon's hold on her, pushing back with her desperation to reach Dean.

She was not going to watch Dean die in front of her eyes.

 _Not_ Dean.

 _Never_ Dean.

Deja shouted in pain at the raw effort it took for her to start to peel herself off the wall, and had Dean not been bleeding out in front of her very eyes, withering in pain but trapped in place by some unforgiving force, she would have been proud that the demon had to turn more towards her and divide some of its attention to her in order to force her back against the wall, face contorting into a brief sneer as a brief struggle of wills occurred between them, lights in the room surging and flickering as they pushed against one another until at last she caved and was slammed full force into the wall, now completely immobile but moved slightly so she could see Dean perfectly clear.

The blood was pouring from his chest at an alarming rate, and she could see the fear clearly in his eyes as it streamed down his chest to the floor and it bubbled past his lips, choking him.

"Dean!" she cried, tears slipping out of her eyes as she fought in vain against what held her in place, desperate to go to him as she started to hyperventilate to the point she was choking on her own breaths.

 _Please, God, I can't watch him die, I can't watch anyone else die, God, please, no, don't let him die, he can't die!_

She could see him fading, slipping, rapidly losing the fight, gasping for air and sucking in blood with the oxygen as his heart seemed to try and liquify through his chest. Dean lifted his head, blood now streaming from his lips and tears in his eyes as he looked his possessed father in the eyes.

"Dad, please," he begged.

He arched again, his cry of pain so intense that though his mouth made the movements, no sound came but that of him choking on his blood. His entire shirt was stained red now, blood everywhere, streaming down his chin, jaw, and throat, and then…

Dean's eyelids fluttered closed, and he sagged, head dropping to his chest, blood dribbling from his mouth to the floor.

" _Dean!_ " Deja screamed, drawing the word out in one long go no matter how many times her voice cracked, the sound coming out as an almost inhuman shriek if his name hadn't been recognizable in that sound. Lightbulbs popped and went out, sparks showering down on them and in several other rooms as she arched halfway off the wall before being slammed back into place. " _Dean!_ "

"Stop… _stop it_!" she heard John's voice say, and for a brief moment, Deja felt herself released from the force that held her to the wall.

Sam also seemed to be freed as well, the two people requiring less of the demon's attention at the moment freed, but Dean remaining pinned to the wall, unmoving.

She could lunge for the gun on the table, or for Dean in a vain attempt to put herself between the demon and him.

She chose Dean.

As Sam grabbed the gun, Deja lunged towards Dean, uncaring that it brought her closer to the demon as she stood in front of Dean, shielding his body with her own and now seeing that Sam had the demon at gunpoint again.

"You kill me, you kill daddy," the demon snarled at Sam.

"I know," Sam snapped, then aimed lower, shooting John in the leg.

Lightning flashed, and John's leg gave out as he fell to the ground. As soon as his body hit the wooden floor, Dean was abruptly released from the wall, and Deja turned in time to catch him, going down with his full weight on her and ending up on her knees, pulling the blood-soaked man into her arms as she sat up, his blood staining her skin almost instantly while she pulled him carefully into her lap.

Dean gasped in air, choking around the blood and weakly starting to fight back against whatever was still holding him.

"Dean, Dean, it's me, take it easy, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be fine," Deja managed to say, voice jagged as she stumbled over several words, fighting tears and a throat repeatedly closing with emotion. Dean stopped fighting her when he heard her voice, looking up at her with pain-hazed eyes.

"D-Deja?" he rasped, trying to clear his throat. Deja shifted him fully into her lap, one arm supporting him while the other pulled away, red with the blood that soaked his shirt, to run through his hair and tenderly brush down the side of his face.

"It's okay…" she murmured, interrupted as Sam reached them and broke through the bubble Deja's panic induced state had created around her and Dean.

"Dean…oh, God, you lost a lot of blood," Sam observed.

"Where's Dad?" Dean asked him, trying to get his bearing and breath now.

"He's right here, he's right here, Dean," Sam assured him, nodding to John's fallen form just behind him.

"Go check on him," Dean rasped, struggling to keep consciousness.

"Dean…" Sam said softly.

"Go check on him," Dean repeated, though his voice was closer to a broken plea this time. Deja ran her fingers through his hair again, cradling his head in her lap.

"I've got him," Deja assured Sam, a few tears still slipping out of her eyes after the scare she'd just had. "I've got him, go check on your dad," she told Sam, and Sam reluctantly dragged himself away from Dean to approach John.

Deja continued running her fingers through Dean's hair, feeling the short strands slip against her skin one by one as she held Dean securely to her, refusing to let go. He didn't fight her—he couldn't even if he wanted to—but instead fell back into her arms, breathing shallow and labored. She was still trying to reassure herself that he was going to be okay, but that was hard to do when she could feel the warmth of his blood spreading and could see how much there was, how much he'd _lost_.

"Dad?" Sam said hesitantly as he approached John's fallen form. "Dad?"

Even Deja jumped when John suddenly lunged upwards, lying on the ground like he was pinned there in the same manner Deja, Sam, and Dean had been pinned to the walls moments ago. " _Sammy_!" John shouted. "It's still alive! It's inside me, I can feel it! You shoot me! You shoot me! You shoot me in the heart, son! Do it, now!"

To Deja's mortification, Sam clicked the safety off and aimed the colt at John.

"Sam, don't you do it! Don't you do it!" Dean pled weakly, straining against Deja's grip despite the fact he could hardly lift his head.

"Sam, don't!" Deja said much louder.

"You've got to hurry!" John begged. "I can't hold onto it much longer! You shoot me, son! Shoot me! Son, I'm begging you, we can end this here and now! Sammy! You kill me!"

"Sam, no!" Dean gasped, the words barely able to make it past his lips.

"You do this! Sammy!"

Sam started to lower the gun, inch by inch, until finally it was resting at his side. Deja closed her eyes in relief, holding Dean closer. "He's not going to, he's not going to—take it easy, Dean, take it easy, it's all right, it's okay…" she murmured.

"Sam…Sam…" John practically whimpered, before the plume of black smoke finally erupted out of him, snaking away under the boards of the little wooden cabin they were in. Sam, Dean, and Deja just watched it go, no one moving to stop it.

The demon wasn't what was important right now.

Some prices were too high to pay.

They were not going to trade Dean and John for revenge.

And Sam or John had decided to trade Dean for revenge for whatever reason, they would have had to pry Dean from her cold, dead fingers.

John collapsed against the wooden floor, unable to even look at Sam now, but Deja didn't care. There was only one thing on her mind right now, and that was the man in her arms.

"Sam—we need to get to a hospital, _now_. He's lost too much blood," Deja told Sam, her thumb absently stroking Dean's cheek. Sam didn't move at first, stuck between his ashamed father and his dying brother. " _Sam_!"

That snapped him out of it, and finally Sam turned towards Dean and Deja. "Can you carry him?" Sam asked as he helped Deja and Dean both to their feet.

"I can make it to the car. As soon as they're in that vehicle, take off, I'll be right behind you," Deja told Sam, wrapping Dean's arm around her shoulders once she was on her feet and shifting all of his weight onto her. It was difficult, but she still had adrenaline to draw off of.

Sam went to his father's side, helping John up, but Deja didn't wait to see how that was going to go down, trudging forward with Dean barely able to move his own feet to help.

"Don't strain yourself, Dean, save your strength," she told him in a low murmur, practically carrying him out the cabin's door at a painfully slow pace. "You're gonna be okay, just save your strength…"

"Deja…" Dean murmured as they reached the Impala. Deja shushed him.

"No, no, none of that, you're gonna be fine we'll just…" Deja propped the door open and then eased him into the back seat, helping him get situated as he sagged against the black leather. She crouched down beside the open door, gazing up into his green eyes, dark green eyes not only because of the lack of light but also the pain that was currently clouding them. Tenderly, she placed a hand to the side of his face, and he closed his eyes, leaning into the motion with blood-stained lips slightly parted. She turned her hand over, running the backs of her fingers down his cheek and following the motion with her eyes before meeting his once more. "You're going to be okay. Just hang on, Dean. Hang on. I'll see you soon, all right?" she told him sincerely, running her fingers through his hair one last time as she registered Sam and John limping out of the cabin and headed for the driver's and passenger's side of the Impala respectively. That was her cue to pull away, and she did so with great reluctance, shutting the door for Dean and, after one last long look into his eyes, hurrying to her Corvette so she wouldn't be far behind them on the road.

 _He'll be okay, he'll be okay, he's not going to die, he's not going to die, you're not going to watch anyone else die, not tonight, and definitely not him._

* * *

Sam didn't drive in quite a reckless manner as Deja wanted him to. She wanted to see the Impala leaping over hills like when Dean had driven the out of Salvation. But at the same time, she also knew that would be bad for the injured people inside the car, so she tempered her impatience and stayed behind the car, watching the mile markers tick by and silently counting how many more miles they had to go before they hospital.

Roughly eleven minutes out.

Deja stared at the car ahead of her, trying to see Dean's slumped form from her car in the darkness, but it was a fruitless endeavor—she couldn't see anything.

 _Please, please, God, let him be okay_ , she kept silently praying, trying to stave off the fresh images of Dean bleeding out in front of her while she was powerless to watch.

That was so close to how her father died, she couldn't bear to see it happen to Dean. It was an indescribable pain she thought she would only experience once in her life, but instead she had experienced it again watching Dean slowly dying.

She couldn't lose him.

If there was anything this horrible experience had taught her…she was already in too deep.

She could not lose Dean Winchester—it was liable to break her, despite all of her efforts the past several months to keep distance between them. She cared too deeply, and now she—

Screeching metal grated on Deja's ears, a massive form in the darkness coming out of nowhere, it seemed, and ramming into the car in front of her, plowing it right off of the road head first. Well ingrained instincts were the only thing that saved Deja from driving right underneath the massive form and having her head ripped off in the process. She yanked the steering wheel to the side, narrowly missing the trailer of the semi that had emerged from the darkness, but also putting her own Corvette into an out of control spin. Thankfully, by the time she was spinning the semi was off the road, though she didn't stop spinning until her car hit _hard_ in the ditch, and Deja slammed against her seat belt, the breath leaving her in one go and the whiplash coming rather instantly. She sat there, perfectly still as her mind tried to make sense of what had just happened in front of her, fingers white-knuckling the steering wheel and feeling sticky warmth in several different places she couldn't make sense of right now.

A semi…had come out of the woods at full speed…and plowed right into the side of the Impala without stopping, pushing the car right off of the road. And the only reason she hadn't lost her head going under the trailer at deadly speeds was she sent herself into a spin…and had ended up in the ditch.

The Impala and the semi-truck were well off the road behind her, and it was utter silence other than the hiss of crashed car engines and a radio still playing music.

The Impala…got hit by a semi…going top speeds.

The Impala.

Deja ripped the seatbelt off of her and shoved her door open, staggering out of the Corvette and almost falling to her knees several times in the process, one word ripping its way out of her throat.

" _Dean!_ "


	23. Chapter 22: In My Time of Dying, Part 1

Sam didn't gradually come to, or any cliché like that. He jolted awake as suddenly as the car had been hit, looking around him in a daze without really seeing anything while his hand blindly groped for the colt. He could hear voices, noise, but he didn't have enough of his bearings to make sense of it yet, he could only catch snippets.

"… _Dean_!"

"…voice of rage and ruin…"

"…Sam!"

"…go around tonight…"

"… _get away from_ …"

"…bound to take your life…"

"…omnis immundus…"

"…there's a bad moon on the rise!"

Sam gained enough presence of mind to ignore half of that once he realized it was a song playing over a radio, though the rest caught his muddled attention. That was Deja's voice, and it was mixed in with a few collision sounds and a demonic shriek. He pulled back the hammer to the colt, holding it pointed towards the door so that he was ready for whatever appeared on the other side.

There were a few tense moments of sudden silence before Sam heard uneven footsteps headed his way, and he put his finger on the trigger of the colt the same moment the Impala's driver side door opened and revealed a very bloody Deja.

She looked like she'd just stepped out of _Carrie_ , blood matting her hair, face, and clothes and harshly illuminated in the semi-truck's headlights

Though to be fair, she'd had a lot of Dean's blood on her before they left the cabin.

Sam let out a shaky sigh of relief, leaning back in his seat and lowering the colt. "Deja…are you all right?"

"Don't ask me if I'm all right, you're the one who got hit by a semi," Deja said, voice shaking as she backed away from the driver's side and opened the back door. Now that the immediate danger seemed to be gone, Sam turned his head to his father in the seat beside him.

"Dad? _Dad_?" Sam croaked, taking in his father's slumped and bloody form beside him.

"Dean?" Deja suddenly said behind Sam, her voice far too fearful for his liking—the tone sent ice down his spine. " _Dean_!"

Sam turned despite the pain, trying to see his brother. The window was smashed and blood was all over Dean now, and he was dangerously pale. "Dean!"

Dean didn't so much as stir. Sam wasn't even sure he was breathing.

A phone's dial tones reached Sam's ears, and he turned a little more to see Deja put a hand on Dean's face, paling at whatever she felt before her fingers dropped to feel for a pulse. A voice must have come over the line because Deja started speaking, her voice strained and cracking as she spoke. "I need to report a three car accident…there's four people seriously injured, um, one all right but in shock. The car in front of me got hit by a semi, we were driving a friend who lost a lot of blood to the hospital, and I spun out…all three drivers are conscious counting me, but um…me and my friends are hurt really bad, and two of them aren't waking up including my friend that lost a lot of blood, but semi driver's fine. We're about ten minutes away from a hospital, we just passed mile marker…"

* * *

When Dean woke up, he felt like he had wads of cotton in his mouth, parched and in desperate need of a drink. He was a little achy too, but he felt relatively fine, sitting up and glancing in disinterest around the room he was in.

The hospital room he was in.

The last thing he remembered was…

The semi-truck. The horn and the lights and the sound of screeching metal.

An ambulance or something must have made it to them—he didn't know, he didn't remember anything after that. He must have been out.

Grimacing, Dean swung off the bed, bare feet landing soundlessly on the ground before he wandered cautiously out into the deserted hallway, a voice echoing on a P.A. overhead.

"Sam?" Dean called, looking in the room right across the room he'd been in and seeing nothing. "Deja? Dad?"

 _Where are they? Are they okay? Did Deja wreck too? Where am I know?_

Dean's questions only continued to build as he made his way down the hall to search more of the hospital. "Anybody?"

Heading down a stairway, Dean finally found another human being, sighing softly in relief when he saw the blonde woman at the nurse's station.

"Excuse me," Dean said, limping down the stairs and approaching the desk. "Hi. I, uh…I think I was in a car accident, with my dad and my brother…maybe a friend of mine, too, blonde woman…I just need to find them."

The woman didn't so much as acknowledge his presence or his voice, staring at the computer screen in front of her with a file in her hands.

Maybe she just didn't realize he was talking to her? Maybe she was too absorbed in what she was doing? Maybe she was having an episode?

"Hello?" Dean asked. Still no reaction. Worried, Dean reached over and snapped his fingers a few times in her face, waving his hand right in front of her eyes.

Again, she didn't so much as twitch. It was like she was staring right…through…

 _No…oh no…oh, no, no, no…_

Dean quickly backtracked, heart pounding in his chest as he made his way back through the halls to the room he'd been in when he woke up. No one even looked his way, a patient wandering the halls looking like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

Someone should have been looking at him, someone should have acknowledged his presence by now, or—

Dean froze in the doorway to the room, staring in horrified shock at the scene in front of him.

It was him. His body lying on a hospital bed with tubes down his nose and throat, I.V.s, and all sorts of other contraptions hooked up to him, like some giant machine keeping him alive. He even watched his own chest rise and fall with every machine-assisted breath.

It was unreal. And terribly clarifying.

He was…he wasn't him. Well, he was, but not _all_ of him. He wasn't really there, as far as anyone else could see, cause he was a spirit.

He was a fucking ghost.

The panic started to settle in, but before he could have a true meltdown, his gaze moved to something else in the room, something else attached to him that wasn't from the hospital.

Her own platinum blonde hair cascaded downwards to mostly shield her face from his view, her head pillowed in the arms folded atop one another next to Dean's side, and the arm on top was not only supporting her head, but linking her to Dean, her fingers intertwined with his unresponsive one, holding him to her. Dean felt some relief return to him to see her okay, not in a hospital room hooked up to machines like him, but in here with him, at his side even now.

Dean moved over to crouch beside her, unsure if he should touch her or not. Could he even touch her?

 _No, of course you can't, you're a spirit, you idiot._

"Deja…Deja, oh, thank God you're all right," he said softly, reaching out to touch her hand anyway. He pulled away the second his fingers started to phase through her hand, rattled despite the fact he'd pretty much known it would happen. "Deja, please, tell me you can feel me," he pleaded quietly. If she could sense spirits and dark magic, surely she'd be able to sense him standing right beside her?

Footsteps reached the doorway again, and Dean looked up to see another much welcome face.

"Sammy," Dean said in relief, rising to his feet and taking in the sight of his brother. Sam didn't look that much worse than he had at the cabin, just a few more bruises and cuts from what Dean could see, and he wasn't in hospital garb, and seemed to be standing on his own just fine. "You look good…considering."

Sam seemed to be at a strange cross between relieved and devastated, gaze flickering from Deja to Dean before he walked forward, approaching Deja first and placing a hand on her back. Deja woke almost instantly, head lifting to finally show her face. Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

Okay, so not as fine as he'd thought.

It looked like Deja had cut the right side of her head on something, and not just a small scratch either, since Dean could still see the patched-up gash despite her hair, and she had another cut running from her temple across her cheek to her chin. Seeing those, he wouldn't doubt if she had more injuries he just couldn't see.

"Deja, hey—they let you go?" Sam asked in surprise as the woman straightened painstakingly.

"If by let me go you mean they weren't paying attention and I was able to slip away, then yeah, sure," Deja mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

So, Deja was admitted to the hospital too. She must have had things wrong Dean just couldn't see.

"Deja, if the doctors say you need to rest—"

"I can rest just fine right here," Deja said sharply, grip tightening on Dean's hand. Sam didn't say another word on the matter, and Dean had the sneaking suspicion they'd had this argument already as Sam looked at Dean lying on the bed.

"Has the doctor said anything?" Sam asked shakily.

"If the doctor had been by here, there would have been a scene about me being out of bed and in here instead," Deja answered, keeping her eyes on Dean instead of looking at Sam while she talked.

"We should have been told something by now," Sam muttered, staring at Dean's face rather fearfully.

"Hey, I'm gonna be fine, all right? I'm right here—hey, man, tell me you can hear me," Dean said after the solemn silence stretched too long for his liking, looking at his brother this time as he spoke. Sam didn't respond.

Neither of the supernatural sensitive people could hear him.

Perfect.

"How are you doing? Really?" Sam suddenly asked Deja, breaking their silence. Deja sighed.

"I hate hospitals."

"Well that's not a switch," Dean scoffed.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, frowning.

"You've seen Ghost Whisperer, I'm assuming?" Deja said, pausing long enough for Sam to nod before continuing. "Why does Melinda hate hospitals?"

Dean ran a hand down his face, though Sam was the one who answered.

"Because she sees ghosts everywhere. You said you can sense ghosts," Sam said with a shake of his head.

"Exactly."

"Great. So even if you do sense me, you're just gonna brush it off. Good to know," Dean said in frustration, looking at Sam.

He still didn't know what state their father was in. Sam and Deja were all right, but what about their dad?

Dean looked at Sam, willing his younger brother to hear him. "How's Dad? Is he okay?" When Sam still didn't react, Dean felt his frustration mount even more. "C'mon, you're the bon-a-fide psychic—give me some ghost whisperin' or something!"

Another voice reached Dean's ears, but unfortunately it was not another familiar one.

On the plus side, it was still an answer to one of his questions.

"Your father's awake. You can go see him if you like," a doctor said as he entered the room, gaze moving from Sam to Deja. Dean sighed in relief, though the doctor was speaking again before he had time to be grateful that their father was all right as well. "You shouldn't be—"

"Doc, anyone tries to move me from his side, I'm gonna bite them, and then I'm gonna make their life hell for the rest of my stay. I've had worse, I'll be fine," Deja interrupted the doctor before he could even finish scolding her.

"Trust me, she probably will," Dean remarked, folding his arms over his chest. Sam, however, was solemn, staring at Dean's unconscious form on the bed.

"Doc, what about my brother?" Sam asked softly. Deja noticeably tensed, and everyone, Dean included, looked to the doctor to see what he would say.

"Well he sustained serious injury—blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney. But it's the head trauma I'm worried about. There's early signs of cerebral edema."

"Well, what can we do?"

"Well, we won't know his full condition until he wakes up," the doctor said. " _If_ …he wakes up."

"If?" Sam echoed incredulously, and Deja went completely still, gazing at Dean's face and cradling his hand between both of hers now. Dean looked sharply at the doctor.

"Screw you, doc, I'm waking up!" Dean snapped.

"…you need to have realistic expectations, Son," the doctor was saying. Sam looked crestfallen, but Deja looked up and at the doctor with a steely look.

"No offense, doctor, but you don't know him. He's stubborn as hell and he's a fighter, and he'd probably fight the grim reaper himself if he had to. He's going to wake up," Deja said firmly.

"Yeah, listen to Deja, I'm gonna be fine—just go find some hoodoo priest to lay some mojo on me," Dean said fiercely.

Still, Sam looked doubtful.

* * *

It was horrible watching everyone struggle with what to do while he was hanging on to life—mostly his brother and father. They were already butting heads, arguing over what to do with the colt and how to help Dean, not to mention Dean was pretty sure John knew something about what the demon had said about having a plan for Sam and the other children—he just wasn't saying what, which was frustrating.

Deja…that was a different kind of horrible. It was horrible watching her in the sense that she couldn't hear him, he couldn't say anything to her in response to anything she might say out loud, he couldn't feel her or touch her—that was the pain that came with watching Deja.

But he would much rather watch what Deja was doing than John and Sam. As agonizing as it was not being able to respond…she was bringing him some peace during all of this. In fact, he was watching her right now.

Deja was still seated at Dean's side, her hunter's journal open in her lap as she looked through the pages, searching each one for the second time for something that might help with Dean's situation. Despite her focus on the book, she kept looking up at Dean with a longing look until, eventually, Deja set the book aside, scooting closer to his side and reaching out with her hand to gently brush her fingers across his forehead before they threaded through his hair. Dean's lips parted slightly as he watched, wishing he could feel her touch.

"You're going to be all right," she said quietly. "We'll find a way, and you'll be fine. I promise."

Dean swallowed, watching as her fingers trailed over his temple, across his cheek, and down his jaw before returning to his forehead and starting the cycle over again. "I believe you," he answered, even though he knew she couldn't hear him.

"I just wish I had more hunter contacts to call for help, but…I already told you guys…you're all I've got…" Deja said softly, and Dean felt a pang go through his heart when he saw her start to get choked up, her other hand grasping his limp one once again for reassurance. "Y'know…" she started to continue, but at that moment a nurse walked in, and she immediately silenced.

"Oh, come on," Dean complained as the nurse smiled timidly at the emotional woman at Dean's bedside.

"This is going to take a while, if you want to…" the nurse started to say, and Deja got to her feet.

"Yeah, I got it," Deja said dismissively leaving the room as fast as she could, though her walk was off.

It must have been one of her injuries bothering her.

Deciding he had nothing else to do, Dean chose to follow her and see what _she_ would do. At first, she seemed to just idly wander the halls, arms wrapped self-consciously around her chest and head ducked low so she was staring at the ground.

It was rather uncharacteristic of her.

Eventually, however, Deja managed to glance up, a small sign that said _chapel_ catching her eyes. Dean followed her gaze, then stared at her incredulously.

"Really? I mean…seriously? Might I suggest turning to something _real_ , instead of this crap?" Dean asked her as he followed her inside the empty room. Deja looked around as if to make sure she was alone before she sank into one of the chairs, interlocking her fingers together and resting her arms on the chair in front of her.

She didn't look to the Jesus on the cross or up to the sky like Dean had seen many, many people do, but instead bowed her head and closed her eyes, simply sitting there for a few moments, steadying her breathing. As much as Dean didn't believe in God and angels, he was curious to know what she was going to pray for, and was rather disappointed that she seemed to be praying silently.

"So…um…it's me again."

He stood corrected.

As Deja started to pray out loud, Dean moved closer to her, sitting backwards in the chair that she was leaning forwards on and trying to clasp his hands over hers—in vain—as he listened to her speak, watching her every move.

"It's been years since I last did this out loud, so…sorry if it's a little awkward," Deja said shakily with a soft laugh, and Dean smiled weakly. "I've prayed…many times in my life. And with all those prayers, I can honestly say I've never asked for anything for myself, not once. I also know that I am one of the _last_ people who should be asking for something in a prayer…a lot of times I feel like I'm not allowed to pray, or I shouldn't be speaking to you…be it God or angels on the other end of this line…this sometimes oh-so-one-way line…"

Deja grew silent for a moment, and after a few seconds Dean saw her shoulders shake.

Shit, she was crying. She was crying, and he was powerless to do anything as she lifted her head, the tears slipping from her eyes to go with the shaking. _Now_ she was looking upwards, and Dean wished in that moment she could see him right in front of her, listening to her words.

Cause even if he didn't believe in all this, there _was_ someone listening to her prayer, and he wanted her to know it.

He wanted her to know that he _could_ hear her.

"But it's Dean," Deja sobbed, voice cracking. "And I usually try not to ask for help cause I was taught we're helped after we've done all we can do, after we put forth effort ourselves, but I-I don't know what to do. I need help— _he_ needs help. I can't lose him. I have literally lost everyone else in my life that I've cared about, and when I met the Winchesters, I wasn't going to get close to them, they were just going to be more faces I passed right by, but I…something felt different, so I came again, and despite my best efforts to stay away, I still…please…I thought maybe… _maybe_ this time they won't die. And I dared to think of them as friends, despite all my past experience telling me to run for their sake, and mine. And despite how much it scared me, how much I tried to keep my distance, to not cross that line, I still…"

Deja trailed off, closing her eyes and struggling to find her voice again before she continued in a whisper. "I can't lose Dean. I _can't_. If you take him now, I won't…I won't come back from that. I dare to care for someone for the first time in years, and now…" Deja wiped furiously at her eyes with the back of her hands, eyes still squeezed shut. For a few seconds, Dean was glad no one could see him, because there were tears coming from his eyes, too, as he listened to her pleas for _his_ life. "I am asking for your help. I don't care how, send someone, _inspire_ me, anything, just…help him. And help _me_ take the high road. Because the only solutions that I've thought of have been dark paths and breaking promises to him, even though he doesn't know what those promises are. Please, help Dean…or I will, no matter the cost."

Deja pulled her fingers apart, skin briefly discolored from how tightly she'd held her hands together, and ran her fingers through her hair, bowing her head low while Dean stared at her in shock and pain.

"Deja, I'm not going anywhere," he said, voice low. "I'm going to come through this, you're not going to lose me. So, whatever dark thing you're thinking of doing…don't. Please… _you_ hang on for _me_."

* * *

They were back in Dean's room. And by they, he meant himself, Deja, and John, since Sam still needed to return from a trip to Bobby's to retrieve the colt and some stuff to protect against demons. However, Deja was fast asleep clutching Dean's hand, and had fallen asleep before John even came into the room. She had no idea John was in the room, just…sitting there. Watching Dean. Occasionally looking at the woman holding his unconscious son's hand—not with distaste, which was a better. It was more of a sad, sorrowful expression.

But right now, he was thinking about something else. Something that bothered him since he'd noticed it while bouncing between his father and Deja.

"Come on, Dad…you've got to help me. I got to get better, I got to get back in there. I've got to get back to Deja, to Sammy," Dean pled with his father, glancing at the woman at his bed side. John, of course, didn't react, but Dean kept talking.

"I mean, you haven't called a soul for help. You haven't even _tried_. Hell, I'd even take you trying a prayer like Deja at this rate, I mean…at least you'd show some sort of motivation to help me instead of just _sitting_ here. She doesn't know what to do, and she's _still_ doing more than you!" Dean snapped, pointing at the sleeping woman. He waited a few more minutes, watching John just stare at Dean. Sam and Deja, they talked to him despite him being unconscious, but John…

Nothing.

"Aren't you going to do anything? Aren't you even gonna _say_ anything?" Dean accused, voice growing desperate before culminating into an angry shout. "I've done everything you have ever asked me. _Everything_. I've given _everything_ I've ever had. Now you're just gonna sit there and you're gonna watch me die?"

Still, nothing. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take how John was doing nothing, especially after what the demon had said.

 _You fight, and you fight for this family, but the truth is, they don't need you. Not like you need them…_

"I mean, what the hell kind of father are you?" Dean yelled at John. He continued to stare at his father until a rumbling sound reached his ears and he turned around, still irritated. "What is that?"

He'd hardly even made it to the door to his room when an iridescent form practically flew past him, and Dean had to jump back to avoid getting run over. Dean looked back at John, who still hadn't moved, and Deja, who still hadn't stirred.

He really hoped John left before Deja woke up.

"I take it you didn't see that," he murmured to his father before heading off in the direction the form had gone. He made it all the way into another wing before he caught movement in the corner of his eyes, and he turned in time to see it disappear into another room. Cautiously, Dean moved forward, turning into the room and then immediately freezing.

It was the nurse he'd tried to talk to before discovering he was a spirit right now, and she was lying on the ground, gasping for air, files scattered around her.

"Help—Help—" she choked out, and, forgetting no one could see or hear him, Dean stuck his head out of the room.

"Hey, I need some help in here!" Dean shouted at the doctors just at the end of the hall, but apparently not close enough to hear the woman calling for help.

"I—" the woman coughed, her breaths coming shallower and less often. "I can't—b-breathe—"

She cut off, breaths suddenly erratic before, abruptly, she stopped breathing altogether, eyes gradually turning glassy.

She was dead.

* * *

When Sam returned, Dean practically pounced on him, following him all the way into John's room. Deja was in Dean's room right now, and probably didn't even know that Sam was back yet, not that Dean could do much about that even if his focus was elsewhere right now.

Right now, he just wanted Sam's psychic crap to kick into gear so his younger brother could _hear_ him.

"Sammy, tell me you can freakin' hear me, man, there's something in the hospital. Now you got to bring me back, and we got to hunt this thing," Dean all but shouted at his brother as Sam crossed John's room to stand by the window, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His continued silence and lack of a reaction told Dean that he still couldn't hear him. "Sam!"

"You're quiet," John commented, and Dean glanced in his direction a second before Sam suddenly came to life again, throwing the duffel aside as he glared at John.

"You think I wouldn't find out?" Sam accused. John stared at him, face betraying nothing.

"What are you talking about?" John asked steadily, though he probably knew perfectly well _what_.

"That stuff from Bobby—you don't use it to ward off a demon, you use it to _summon_ one!" Sam shouted, and now it was Dean's turn to stare at his father in shock. "You're planning on bringing the demon here, aren't you, having some stupid macho showdown!"

"I have a plan, Sam," John answered sternly, though that only made Sam even angrier, his voice raising as he jabbed an accusing finger between John and the direction of Dean's rooms.

"That's exactly my point! Dean is _dying_ , and _you_ have a plan! You know what, you care more about killing this demon than you do saving your own _son_!"

"No, no, no, guys, don't do this," Dean pleaded, unable to do anything to get them to stop fighting for once.

He didn't want them to fight, not with everything going on, no matter how justified they might feel their anger was.

"Do not tell me how I feel! I am doing this for Dean," John snapped. Dean gave John a look of disbelief: how was summoning the thing that had tried to kill them _all_ helping him?

"How? How is revenge gonna help him? You're not thinking about anybody but yourself, it's the same selfish obsession!" Sam shot back, echoing only a part of Dean's thoughts.

This fight wasn't even about what John was doing anymore—it was rapidly devolving into a huge blowout about anything and everything, and some of it pointless or repetitive.

They didn't _need_ this right now

"Come on, guys, don't do this…" Dean groaned, again rather pointlessly.

"That's funny, you know what, I thought this was your obsession, too!" John growled. "This demon killed _your_ mother, killed _your_ girlfriend. You _begged_ me to be part of this hunt! Now if you killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would have happened!"

"It was _possessing_ you, Dad, I would have killed you, too!" Sam said, emphasizing his words as he moved closer to John.

"Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now!"

 _This is_ not _Sam's fault_ , Dean thought sharply. "Shut up, both of you!" he said louder, though they still couldn't hear him.

"Go to hell," Sam said simply, though with sincere venom in his words as he stared their father down. John kept it going.

"I should have never taken you along in the first place, I _knew_ it was a mistake—"

"I said shut up!" Dean finally shouted, swinging his hand on instinct towards the closest object, which happened to be a glass of water sitting on a table close to John. To Dean's shock, his hand actually connected with the glass, and it went soaring across the room to smash into a mess of glass and water on the floor. Sam, Dean, and John all stared at the glass for several long moments, all of them stunned into silence over what had just happened. Finally, Dean looked up at Sam. "Dude, I full-on Swayzed that mother."

Before Dean had a chance to revel in his accomplishment any more, he felt a building pain start in his chest, squeezing and compressing and making it hard to breath, slowly dragging him down until he was on his knees, doubled over with a hand clutching at his chest.

"What is it…" Dean trailed off, the words barely making it past his lips as people started to rush by in the hall. John looked like he was about to say something, but before he could, a certain blonde crashed breathless against the doorframe.

"Sam!" Deja gasped, looking breathless, in pain, and with rapidly reddening and moistening eyes.

 _Oh no…_

Sam was already moving, Deja clutching to his sleeve as they hurried back down the hall to where the staff were gathered around Dean.

"All clear."

"Clear!"

A persistent flatline could be heard before Dean even managed to make his way to the other side of Sam and Deja, Sam leaning against the doorframe for support while Deja clutched desperately to his arm, biting down on her fist as she stared at Dean's completely unresponsive form on the bed inside. The doctors tried to jump his heart, the charge arching his body off of the bed, but his body simply flopped lifelessly back onto the bed, the flatline continuing. A soft, pain filled whine built up in Deja's throat—like she was trying to hold back wails—as Dean passed her, her body completely motionless as she stared at Dean.

"Still no pulse," a nurse declared.

"No…" Sam whispered, shaking his head. It seemed while Deja was immobile, Sam couldn't stop moving, weaving in place.

"Okay, let's go again," the lead doctor said, charging up the paddles again. "360."

"Charging."

"All clear."

"Clear!"

Again, the charge arched Dean's body off of the bed, and again, the flatline continued.

"Still no pulse."

Dean couldn't stop watching.

Neither could Deja or Sam, as much as they were falling apart every moment they stood there witnessing the doctors struggle to revive Dean.

"C'mon, Dean…" Deja murmured, voice cracking. "Fight, damn it, fight!"

"Come on, come on," the doctor stressed. "Let's go again. All clear."

"Clear!"

Again—nothing.

"Okay, let's go again."

"Charging!"

Dean froze as, suddenly, he could see the same _thing_ that had killed the girl from the nurse's station, and it was hovering over him—his body, anyway—and he was pretty sure that it was what was keeping him from being revived at the moment. His jaw clenched as he moved around Deja and Sam, getting right up next to his bed.

"You get the hell away from me! _Stay back_!" he shouted.

"There's no change. Starting CPR," the doctor announced. Dean couldn't see Deja and Sam since they were behind him, though he did hear a much more audible sound of distress from Deja, so he could tell they were in terrible shape.

But right now, he was focused on the thing that was apparently trying to kill him right now.

"I said get back!" Dean shouted with everything he had, reaching out and grabbing the thing's arm to keep it from touching him.

Something he could only compare to a powerful electric current—and he could make that comparison accurately, considering the deadly voltage that had coursed through him when he, Sam, and Deja had been hunting that Rawhead—coursed through him, and he was thrown against the wall with the force of this energy that surged through him when he touched the ghostlike creature hovering over his body. It turned to face him, then simply flew out of the room, Dean giving chase before he could even get all of his bearings back.

Dean rushed down the hall, looking everywhere for the thing that had nearly killed him, but he couldn't spot it. Gnashing his teeth together in frustration, Dean made his way back to his room where Sam and Deja stood in two different stages of relief in his room's doorway. Sam looked like he was going to collapse onto the floor, using the doorframe as support, while Deja had her face buried in his jacket, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs that, whenever they made an audible noise, she choked back.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. I made a promise, and I'm going to get that thing before it gets me," Dean told them, even though he knew they couldn't hear him. "It's some kind of spirit, but I could grab it. And if I can grab it, I can kill it."

Of course, they didn't answer, though Dean noticed when Deja's posture suddenly shifted, tensing as she forced back her sobs. She wiped away her tears with a vengeance, and Sam looked at her when he noticed her shift as well.

"Deja?" Sam asked, worry dripping in his tone. "Deja, are you all right?"

"I need some air," she murmured, palming away the rest of the evidence of her tears before she just started moving. Concerned about what she was about to do—and considering the prayer he'd been present for, worried it was something drastic or dangerous—Dean followed her.

Deja stopped in what Dean assumed was her assigned hospital room to grab that gold dusted hard cover book he'd always wondered about and a duffel out from an unused cabinet in the room.

Wait, when had she retrieved stuff from her car? Was it while Dean was unconscious before he woke up a spirit? Had she told Sam to get a specific duffel in her car or get some items for her? Had she shoved a bunch of stuff together before the paramedics had arrived on the scene of the crash?

To deepen his growing dread of what Deja was doing, she paused before she left the room, looking up with a stormy expression. "If you won't, fine…I will," she said with scary conviction before she was moving again.

"Deja…" Dean said warningly, but he couldn't do anything to stop her from moving.

After a couple turns down a few random halls, when they came to one that was rather empty, Deja pulled out a phone and rapidly punched in a number she apparently had memorized by heart considering how quickly she pounded it out on the keys, starting to look for an empty room with a door while she waited for the ringing to stop and whoever she was calling to answer.

Almost to the end of the hall—it was a dead-end hall—Deja straightened, her expression steely determination as she pressed the phone closer to her ear. "Rachel, it's me. Remember that favor you owe me? I'm cashing in."

"I thought you called all your hunter contacts to help me. Who the hell is Rachel? Deja, what are you doing?" Dean asked her, voice tense as he walked at a fast pace beside Deja, following her into a dark room as she finally found one to her liking. After she shut the door behind her, she put the phone on speaker, setting it down on the floor with the book and her duffel back, the faint glow barely giving Dean a view of her face as she moved around. He heard the zipper of her duffel, and rustling that old him she was digging inside, but he couldn't see what she was doing.

"Pft, you're always calling for information, I'm your main eyes and ears in the community—the others just pick up on stuff specific to them," a woman said on the other end of the line.

"I'm not asking for regular information, Rachel," Deja deadpanned, and the woman's soft chuckle from her own joke suddenly went silent, signaling she'd heard the same not in Deja's voice that Dean had that told her that Deja was deadly serious. "I need you pulling strings, touching base with every contact you have, pulling up your own cookbook."

"You're not kidding…I mean…I figured I'd pay you back for what you did for me with some information slipped your way here and there, but you're really going for a full settlement. It's big what you want, isn't it?"

"Rachel, everything you can find on healing, everything and anything—"

"Healing? Really? For yourself or—"

"Someone else, someone that's hanging in the balance right now, someone who's flatlined more than once," Deja said, voice shaking slightly before she cleared her throat to get it back under control. Dean could hear her setting stuff down and moving about, but he couldn't _see_ her. "I know it's not that developed of a field…"

"Not that developed? Not for what I know you'd consent to—Deja, most of the healing is, ironically and unfortunately, in the dark arts, and even then, it's almost all self-healing stuff."

"Arts—You know someone who can lay some mojo on me and you've waited _this long_ to call them?" Dean accused Deja, jabbing a finger at the phone.

"I don't care, Rachel, everything you find on healing, send it my way, small or large."

"If this person that needs healing is as much in the balance as you say, you might not have the time to self-engineer something," Rachel responded skeptically.

"I'll make time, Rachel. I don't care about the odds, I will make them work, whatever it takes."

On the other end of the line, Rachel sighed. "Whoever this is must be pretty damn important. Who are they?"

Deja was quiet for a moment, Dean waiting to see if she was going to give this woman his name. "He," Deja eventually relented. Rachel seemed to immediately perk up with curiosity.

"He? Oh?" she asked, suggestively.

"…he's a hunter."

Dean was thrown for a loop with the immediate reaction of the woman on the other line, her voice dropping to a furious hiss that questioned Deja's sanity.

"A _hunter_? Deja, what the _hell_ are you thinking? Don't you remember Reid?"

"Reid? That hunter Dad mentioned? What's he got to do with me?" Dean asked, a different kind of worry now coloring his tone.

"Of course I remember, I'll never be able to forget it! But that's not going to happen this time!"

"Oh yeah? Why, you going to magically keep it a secret, pray to the gods—or God, in your unique case—he doesn't find out?"

"What secret? Deja, what the hell is going on, what aren't you telling me? And don't you give me any of that it-doesn't-have-to-do-with-you crap cause obviously it does!" Dean shouted at her, but he remained unheard.

"No—yes—I don't know, I haven't…I never thought I was going to be around long, that I was going to get in this deep, and then things just…happened. I couldn't help it," Deja fumbled, unable to explain the odd dance she and Dean had been involved in to someone who wasn't them and also hadn't seen it firsthand.

"Oh yes you could! You could have turned and ran the other way like you _know_ you should with other hunters!" Rachel snapped. "You might be a hunter, Deja, but you are _not_ one of them."

Normally, Dean would jump to Deja's defense and rip into the woman for saying such a thing, but right now he was rather certain he was missing some key piece of this puzzle that could possibly alter his perception of the woman he'd grown to care for.

"You don't have to remind me, Rachel, I know. But he's—" Deja started to say, but Rachel cut her off.

"If you say different, I swear to my _gods_ , I will kill you through this phone. You don't know that—how can you know that for sure? How can you know for sure he won't do the same thing Reid did when he _inevitably_ finds out?" Rachel asked sharply.

"Find out what? What aren't you telling me? I need to know!" Dean demanded, looking in the general direction of Deja's voice since he still couldn't see her. Deja was quiet for a few seconds before she answered.

"…I don't know…but I can worry about that another time, Rachel. Right now, I just need him to be okay—I can't lose him like everyone else," Deja stated, voice hushed and strangled with emotion. Rachel sighed, taking a moment before she answered, apparently giving up on the subject for now.

"Are you even strong enough to pull off something like this? If you've been running around with hunters for a while, you're probably _way_ out of practice."

"What?" Dean asked, thrown off again by what the two women were talking about. Deja was already speaking.

"For him?" she asked rhetorically, and Dean jumped as the room suddenly became awash in candlelight.

" _Jesus_!" he shouted, leaping back as he saw the last of the flames jumping to life, suddenly able to see Deja kneeling among the candles that she'd scattered around the room meticulously in the darkness with her gold-dusted book in her lap, a few crystals scattered about and pouches of what seemed to be herbs. As her fingers gracefully finished clenching into a loose fist and she stared at the phone with an eerie calm expression, the last of the candles lit themselves while she answered her own question.

"I'm strong enough."

Dean stared at her, mind blanking for a few moments as his entire being tried to deny what he was seeing, three startled words full of betrayal escaping his lips.

"You…a witch?"


	24. Chapter 23: In My Time of Dying, Part 2

Dean couldn't move for the first few painfully long moments, standing unseen in the room awash in candlelight with Deja kneeling on the ground in front of him. She continued talking and moving, opening the book in her lap to reveal a collection of spells and recipes—possibly for potions and hex bags and other nasty witch crap like that—while Dean remained frozen in time, stuck in that one moment of truth.

 _Witch, witch, witch, witch…_

A weak sound of question made it past Dean's lips, and he felt anger and betrayal starting to bubble up and spread through his limbs, getting him to come to life again as he bored holes into the _stranger_ in front of him.

"Wh...why…" he started weakly before trailing off and clearing his throat, looking away for a split second as he tried to make sense of the raging emotions and throughs flying through his mind. He looked back at her once he found his words. "All this time…Dad was right about you, right to be suspicious and I…he knew there was something shady about you and I didn't listen cause I…"

Dean's jaw clenched in anger, and his voice started to raise. "All this time, were you ever really a friend? Was everything a lie, just some scam, have you just been playing us and laughing this entire time? Was anything you said true, I mean, did you ever really _care_?" Dean shouted, jabbing a finger angrily in her direction.

If he was physically there right now…if he hadn't been a spirit…

"I can't believe that you—why you of all people—you're in with witchcraft! You're full on satanic! You're one of the things that we hunt—that _I_ hunt, and I—" Dean yelled, voice cracking and dying as he spun away, hands on his head.

But he didn't want to calm down—he shouldn't be calm right now, he had every right to scream at her.

So that's what he did. No one was going to stop him. He wished to God someone could hear him, but he couldn't, and even though she couldn't hear him he kept screaming at her.

"What, you're 'Black Magic Study Book' is actually Grimoire, Volume Two? I saw what's in there, Deja, that shit was _pure_ evil! And that sob story about your family being killed by witches, was that a lie? You're one yourself! Hell, with what's in that damn book, were you the one who killed them? You killed them and set fire to your house to cover your tracks?" Dean screamed as he rounded on her. "Everything I thought I knew about you was a _lie_ , all this time you've been playing us—I can't believe a word out of your mouth! All the secrets, it makes so much sense now!"

Realization slammed into him with the force of that damn semi, and Dean felt the overwhelming urge to hit something, anything, he just needed to let this fury out, but all he could do was yell himself hoarse. "All those times we were in trouble, Sam and I, even our Dad, were hurt, hell, even _dying_ , and you're telling me you could have done something and you _didn't_? Have you been able to see me this entire fucking time and you're just playing dumb to keep your damn secret?" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs, right in front of her face. She didn't react, which either meant she was a damn good actress—well, she was, considering she'd played them like fiddles this entire time—or that she really couldn't hear him. "You're probably not even a hunter—it was just an act so you could ride along with us. And those witches you killed when we first met, probably some rival coven, or you wanted something from them, some grimoire or spell you got after you left 'for your motel,' right?"

Dean stood there, breathing heavy, staring her down as she flipped through pages and continued making calls. He was so lost in his anger he couldn't even hear what she was saying to them, he could just hear his heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears—which was odd, considering he was a spirit right now. Seeing her not even react to his shouts and accusations, to his _presence_ , however, caused his throat and chest to constrict, and his voice turned desperate and pleading as well as angry.

"Don't just sit there, damn it! _Tell me you can hear me_! God, say something, tell me _why_! Give me anything, anything at _all_!" Dean pleaded, resisting the urge to drop to his knees in front of her and try to catch her eyes, especially since he knew they would just stare right past him. "Tell me if any of it was real! If you meant anything you said, or if it was all a part of your lie! Please, just…say _something_ …"

As quickly as the energy had come with his rage of emotions, Dean felt the adrenaline induced energy leave him in a rush, and he sank onto the nearest surface he could find, which ended up being a table behind him. His throat hurt from his yelling, but despite the sudden lack of energy and the pain in his throat he still fumed as he watched Deja, hurt, angry, and betrayed.

He didn't even know the woman he was looking at. Not anymore.

The longer he looked at her, as much as a stranger she seemed to him now and as much betrayal as he felt, his temper gradually cooled, as he didn't have enough energy to keep that anger fueled towards her right now. So, he descended into silence, simply…watching her, like he'd never seen her before, trapped with his own thoughts.

At the same time his temper cooled, Dean realized some of his accusations, his questions, had no grounds, born out of his anger and already proved wrong—simply by her actions since he'd been a disembodied spirit, not even taking into account her past actions.

As much as it confused him, she didn't seem to be a devil worshiper or a servant of demons like he'd thought witches were—he'd seen her praying to God and angels when she thought no one was around, heard her talk briefly here and there about her religious views. Though considering the demonic and satanic nature of witches from what he'd seen so far, that religious aspect of her personality and the fact she was a witch…he didn't see how that could coexist.

And as hurt and betrayed as he was, as much as he doubted because of the secrets and the clear fact she'd been lying to them all this time…clearly she did care, as here she was calling person after person, rifling through spells galore, trying to find a way to help him. She'd been there for him from the moment she joined them in hunting, and he'd watched her pour her heart out and sob out pleas in prayer for his life. And whenever she did sleep, it was by his side, holding his unresponsive hand.

This witch was showing more care for him right now than his father was.

But she was still a witch. And knowing that, he couldn't trust her. She was one of the things his family hunted, and he'd…

Dean swallowed, watching her.

He'd wanted more with her. He'd been willing to let her see underneath his thick skin here and there, let her in, and now this…now he found out she was one of _them_ …

He'd known he didn't know everything about her, he'd known she had secrets, but he'd thought he'd known enough. Apparently, he hadn't. Apparently, she was one of the things that he would kill on a job, and one of the beings he could not stand, that he hated the most.

 _Figures_.

He should have known better, he should have never let her in, never let himself care like he had…did? Still?

He didn't know what to do—he didn't even know what to _feel_.

 _I can't be here any longer._

Abruptly, Dean rose to his feet, blindly leaving the room and Deja far behind with no clear direction of where he should go.

He just needed to get away.

* * *

Dean didn't know how long he wandered the halls, lost in thoughts and memories without really seeing where he was going. The analytical part of him was keeping an eye out for the thing that had been trying to kill him, but he hadn't seen that, either, which just made his wandering even more aimless.

Eventually, however, the spell on him seemed to be broken by a woman shouting at the top of her lungs.

"Can't you see me?" this woman shouted, and Dean paused, listening to see if anyone would react.

Nothing.

"Why won't you look at me?" the woman cried out again. Dean was mildly annoyed at being pulled out of his musings about Deja and his halfhearted search for the thing trying to kill him.

He hadn't worked himself back up to hunting the thing yet as he was still rebounding from the shock of Deja's true identity.

"Now what?" he growled under his breath, making his way in the direction of the woman's voice as she continued to shout.

"Somebody talk to me! Say something, _please_!"

Dean came around a corner into a lobby near a main staircase to see a woman with dark, short hair wearing patient clothes similar to him, weaving through people on the stairs and shouting at them to get their attention, much as Dean had tried to do a few times.

He dared to hope…

"Can you see me?" he asked, and she whipped around, large hazel eyes looking stunned to get a response.

"Yeah," she breathed, and Dean felt an unexpected relief wash through him as he hurried up the stairs towards her.

"All right, just, uh…calm down. What's your name?" he asked.

"Tessa," she said breathlessly.

"Okay, good, Tessa, I'm Dean."

"What's happening to me?" she asked fearfully. Dean wasn't quite sure how to respond, taken aback. "Am I—Am I dead?"

"That sort of depends," Dean said carefully.

* * *

It didn't take long for Dean to discover that what was happening to him was also happening to Tessa, as they'd found the room she was in complete with her body and a worried mother leaning over her. He'd done his best to explain that she was having an out of body experience because she was close to death, like him, but that she would be okay if she held on. After his explanation, she was…surprisingly calm about what was happening to her, of how close she was to dying, saying that whatever happened would happen, and it was just fate.

Dean thought that was a load of crap, and he'd told her as much.

There was always a choice.

He hadn't been able to talk to her after that because his attention had been called elsewhere when he heard the woman over the PA announce a code blue and he'd followed the running doctors into a room with a young girl flatlining. He'd only seen the creature again briefly before it vanished, and the girl had died not long after it disappeared.

After he'd left the room, he couldn't find Tessa again—who knew where the girl had disappeared to—and he had returned to his room, hitting a dead end once again.

Of course, his focus on staying alive went out the window when he saw Deja in his room once again, looking exhausted even in sleep, clutching his hand.

Before, he'd wished he could squeeze her hand in return. Now…he didn't know if he wanted to yell at her to let him go or latch onto her and demand the answers to the millions of questions he now had regarding her.

Instead he just leaned against the wall, watching her cling to his sleeping form like a lifeline, saying nothing as the conflicting emotions inside him rushed to the forefront again.

He was just going to continue to be in this limbo regarding her until he had some answers. He had to _know_.

Dean tore his eyes away from Deja when he heard the door softly swing open as Sam entered, a brown paper bag in hand. He sighed when his eyes landed Deja and Dean together, his gaze drifting back up to Dean's face.

"Hey…" he said softly before he sat the bag down, glancing over at Deja before continuing to talk in a quiet voice. "I think maybe you're around, and if you are…don't make fun of me for this, but, um…but there's one way we can talk."

Sam reached into the paper bag as Dean moved closer to see what his brother was doing, unable to help the roll of his eyes as Sam pulled out a Ouija board.

"Oh, you got to be kidding me," he groaned as Sam set it aside, moving around to the side Deja was on.

"One second, let me just…explain to Deja what's going on since…I think you'd want her involved, too," Sam said faintly, already putting a hand on Deja's shoulder to wake her. As she stirred, Dean groaned again.

"No, Sam, I actually don't want to talk to her right now, and especially not with a bogus spirit board," Dean complained, but it was too late, Deja was already blinking blearily up at Sam.

Dean had no idea what he wanted to say to her. Well…he had some abstract feelings he wished to convey and some broad questions lined up but he didn't know what he wanted to _say_ exactly. How was he supposed to react to… _her_?

"Sam? Where'd you go?" Deja murmured.

"I went out to get something," Sam said dismissively, keeping his attention on Deja. "Deja, I think I felt Dean earlier."

Now she was awake. "What?" she asked in a hushed voice, eyes livening a little with hope.

"When he…" Sam started to explain, trailing off before skipping the when part entirely and moving on to the rest of his explanation. "I felt like he was there, I just couldn't see him. I think he's hanging around, and…I'm going to check. Right now," Sam told her, nodding towards the Ouija board on the bed.

Deja grimaced. "I'm not too fond of Ouija boards."

"Why, cause they're bogus, especially when you've got a witch's séance you can turn to?" Dean muttered bitterly.

"Why?" Sam asked. Deja sat up.

"As my mother put it—you never know what's on the other end," she said pointedly before rising to her feet. "But if you want to try it, have at it…I'd like to know if he's hanging around as well," Deja finished in a hushed tone of voice.

Dean studied Deja closely for a few long moments, unsure if her hopefulness that he was around was sincere. Didn't she know that if he was around, he'd have seen her little witchy show, heard her phone calls—well, only one since he kind of blanked for the rest because of shock—asking for spells, wouldn't that make her upset?

Either she wasn't thinking of her secret being out, or she didn't care if he knew, and he highly doubted it was the latter since she had kept her identity as a witch a secret from them all this time. Surely it just hadn't occurred to her yet that if he was around, he now knew her secret.

Deja moved to sit on the end of Dean's bed while Sam took the Ouija board to the floor, getting it set up in seconds and taking a deep breath before putting his hands on the board's pointer. "Dean?" Sam asked quietly before speaking again with a little more intensity this time, and a little more like a bogus fortune teller, too. "Dean, are you here?"

"No need for the theatrics, Sam, just talk like he's sitting across the table from you. You don't need to speak a certain way or anything—just talk," Deja told him quietly.

"How would you know if you don't mess with these?" Sam asked.

"Because she's a witch and has probably done a few seances of her own," Dean grumbled as he made his way over to where Sam sat.

"I might not participate, but I at least know how. Witch specialist, remember?" Deja told Sam.

 _Lie. You_ are _a witch_ , Dean thought with a venom that, despite knowing how upset he was with her, still surprised him a little. He sighed, trying to shove the pent-up anger elsewhere while he tried talking to his brother.

"God, I feel like I'm at a slumber party," Dean complained to himself as he got down on the ground to sit cross-legged across from Sam. "All right, Sam…this isn't gonna work," Dean informed his brother as he too put his hands on the other end of the Ouija's pointer, focusing on dragging the hollow center over the word _yes_ on the board.

It actually moved.

Sam's jaw dropped despite _him_ being the one to go out and buy the stupid thing for this, and Dean felt a thrill of elation at finally being able to communicate with someone he'd wanted to speak to. Deja stood up from the bed, moving to stand behind Sam as she stared at the board with a sudden intensity.

"I'll be damned," Dean breathed as he looked up at his awestruck and relieved younger brother. Sam laughed he was so relieved, throwing his head back and letting out a long sigh that seemed to release an unseen weight from his shoulders as well.

"Oh, it's good to hear from you, man," Sam said with the biggest grin, and behind him, Deja's eyes instantly teared as she looked over at the bed where Dean's body lay unconscious before turning her attention back to the Ouija board, putting a hand over her mouth to keep from interrupting. "It hasn't been the same without you, Dean."

"Damn straight," Dean murmured, already focusing on what he was going to do next. So many things he needed to tell Sam, but each movement was going to take focus, energy, time, and he wasn't sure how much of each he had.

His gaze flickered over to Deja, swallowing a little nervously. Should he tell Sam…?

"All right…" Dean said with a shake of his head before moving the Ouija's pointer again. Sam straightened at the sudden movement since he hadn't asked a question.

"Dean, what…" he started to ask, though he quickly quieted down and watched to see what Dean was trying to tell him, spelling the words out loud as either confirmation or to let Deja know what Dean was saying too, Dean wasn't sure. "H…u…hunt? What, hunting? Are you hunting?" Sam asked.

Dean dragged the pointer back to the _yes_ word without any pause or hesitation.

"Dean…it's in the hospital, what you're hunting? What—do you know what it is?" Sam asked with urgency as Deja got down on her knees beside him, staring at the board even more intently, which Dean hadn't thought was possible.

"One question at a time, Dude," Dean chided him. He could only move the pointer so fast.

"Sam, he's gotta spell everything out, pace yourself, once question at a time," Deja chided him, and despite the severe conflict he felt regarding her right now, Dean felt a flicker of gratitude that she'd said it for him.

Sam huffed, clearly frustrated, but tried again. "What is it?"

Now Dean moved the pointer to answer, starting off with R as he started to explain what had come to him after he'd seen the little girl die earlier. "I don't think it's killing people. I think it's taking them…you know, when…when their time is just up," Dean explained quietly, still spelling it out. He only made it to a P before Sam figured it out.

"The reaper," Sam murmured, and Dean saw Deja instantly tense.

Her prayer, of all things, popped into his mind.

 _I can't lose Dean. I can't. If you take him now, I won't…I won't come back from that. I dare to care for someone for the first time in years, and now…_

"Dean…" Sam said quietly, and Dean's gaze flickered up to his brother. "Is it after you?"

The tension in the room probably couldn't have been broken by any force in heaven, hell, or earth as Dean reluctantly dragged the pointer over _yes_ yet again. Dean leaned back from the Ouija, waiting to see Deja's and Sam's reaction. Deja just stood there, looking like she hadn't quite decided how she was going to react to his statement yet but leaning towards having a temper tantrum at the universe and breaking a lot of things. Sam just looked flat-out scared.

"If it's here naturally there's no way to stop it," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah, you can't kill death," Dean said, trying for a witty edge, but it ended up just sounding morbid, even to him. He was glad they couldn't hear him for that second.

"Man, you're, uh…" Sam started to say, but he couldn't finish it.

So Dean did.

"I'm screwed, Sam."

"We'll find something," Deja said firmly, rising to her feet. Dean knew she was talking spells, and did what he could to stop her, grabbing the pointer and jerkily trying to spell out her name before she got too far. Sam knew what Dean was going for when he got to the J and turned to face Deja just as she reached the door.

"Deja, wait!" he said, effectively stopping her. "I think he wants you."

To emphasize Sam's point, Dean dragged the pointer to the _yes_ again.

Deja's lips parted subconsciously as she turned around, heading back towards Sam and the Ouija board and, though she didn't know it, Dean, too.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice a cross between curious and cautious. Dean licked his lips, unsure of how to put it before he started moving the Ouija pointer again. Sam moved out of the way, letting Deja replace his hands on the pointer with her own. Carefully, he started with an I, going for the next three words without missing a beat.

 _I saw._

Deja stared at the pointer left hovering over the W, and Sam glanced between Deja and the board in confusion while Dean waited in tense anticipation for what she would do. Deja let out a long breath gaze never wavering from the board.

"Candles?" she eventually asked in a barely audible voice, closing her eyes. She opened them when she felt the pointer moving again, hovering over the _yes_.

"That's right…I know you're a witch," Dean said steadily, looking at her from across the Ouija board. Deja just stared for several moments at the word, forcing down emotion and turning her head so Sam couldn't see when a few tears made it past her control. Dean could still see, though, and it still hurt him to see her cry, but the feeling was buried by his betrayal and burning need for answers.

It was actually Sam that broke the silence.

"Candles? What're you two talking about?" Sam asked in concern, taking note of Deja's reaction. After a few seconds, before Dean could decide he needed to spell out an explanation or a dismissal, Deja replied.

"Sam…this is…a little private…could…"

Sam was already on his feet, and Dean wasn't sure if he was glad or angry that Deja was sending him away. "I got it. Tell me when you're done. I'll go talk to Dad, he'll know what to do about the reaper."

"Thanks," Deja murmured before Sam disappeared. As soon as the door shut behind him, Deja's hands dropped away from the Ouija board and instead covered her face. Dean couldn't see what was happening behind those hands, but he was pretty sure she was having some degree of a breakdown complete with tears.

After a long silence, Deja lifted her head enough to where he could see her red eyes and her wet cheekbones, her hands still covering her mouth and nose as she figured out what her next move was going to be. Hesitantly, she put her hand back on the Ouija board, just one, and very lightly, but it still gave Dean the connection he needed to move it.

"I…I know you probably have…questions…" Dean practically spun the pointer to land on _yes_ again, and Deja stuttered slightly before continuing. "And I'm guessing you're…upset…"

"Understatement," Dean nearly growled as he rattled the pointer a little viciously over _yes_.

Deja looked like she was about to take her hand off the pointer again, but it remained in place, watery eyes staring down at the board as raw emotion made it difficult to speak. "I'm not going to make you spell out every question, so…if you promise to stay for all of it so I'm not speaking to an empty room…I'll tell you my story. And any questions you have afterwards…those you can ask on the board. Please…just let me explain before you pass a judgement on me," Deja said softly.

She was lucky that he'd had enough time to cool off so that he could answer her without any anger clouding his judgement or making him too stubborn to be reasonable, because God knew he could be stubborn to a fault. Instead of rattling the pointer again, Dean gently pushed the pointer around, taking the time to spell out an answer so she would know he was paying attention.

Because he wanted her to tell him—he wanted an explanation. Maybe then, with her side of the story, as much as he wasn't sure he could trust it, he might be able to know how to feel, or at least start to know.

 _I'm listening_ , he spelled on the board. Once Deja dropped her hand away from the pointer, he looked up at her.

"Start talking."

* * *

It was a long, _long_ time before Deja and Dean finished their rather one-sided talk. Deja mostly talked to the air while Dean listened, sometimes sitting, sometimes pacing around the room. Once she was done, and it was clear their conversation was over, Deja answering as many of Dean's questions as she could, Deja ushered Sam back into the room.

Sam slipped in rather quickly, their father's journal in his hand. "Hey, so Dad wasn't in his room—"

"Where is he?" Dean asked out loud, though of course Sam kept talking, moving to sit on Dean's bed.

"—But I got Dad's journal, so who knows? Maybe there's something in here."

Sighing softly, Dean straightened from where he'd been leaning against one of the walls, coming to stand where he could read over Sam's shoulders. As Sam flipped through the pages, Dean looked at his little brother, fighting tooth and nail to keep Dean with them. A proud smile ghosted across his face.

"Thanks for not giving up on me, Sammy…" Dean said softly. He then turned to Deja, throat closing slightly. "…and Deja…thank you…for everything. Even the parts we didn't know about."

After a few moments of silence, Deja reached a hand out and gave Sam's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I'll go back to what I was doing to help Dean while you look into reapers." Deja raised her head, casting her gaze about the room. "Dean, wherever you are right now…just hang on for us, okay?"

Dean nodded, watching her make her way to the door with some trepidation. "I'll do my best." Once she was out the door, Dean turned his attention to Sam again. "She'll find a way to heal me, Sammy, don't you worry…if she gets desperate enough, I may not like it, but she'll find a way."

Of course no one could hear what he was saying, but he was growing used to that by now—the talking was more for him than them since they couldn't hear him. Still, Sam finally came to the page their father had on reapers, and his eyes quickly scanned the page, skipping over the parts he knew and looking for any information that was new.

His gaze did rivet on one particular piece of information, and something clicked almost instantly, his jaw flexing in anger. "Son of a _bitch_ ," he growled, and without giving Sam any warning of what he was doing, he left.

It didn't take him long to weave through the halls back to Tessa's room, but by the time he found it, he wasn't entirely surprised to find her sitting calmly in a dark, untouched room with no patient, looking right at him like she'd been expecting him, no longer in patient clothes, but regular clothes.

"Hi, Dean," she said softly.

"You know, you read the most interesting things," Dean started as he stepped into the room, circling her like a warrior studying an unknown threat instead of approaching her like a fellow person having an out of body experience. "For example, did you know that reapers can alter human perception? I sure didn't."

Tessa simply watched him, still perfectly calm, saying nothing. So, Dean continued.

"Basically, they can make themselves appear however they want…like, say, a pretty girl," Dean said, finally letting the accusation leak into his voice. "You're much prettier than the last reaper I met."

"I was wondering when you'd figure it out," Tessa said simply. Dean felt a muscle twitch in his jaw, but he knew the being in front of him was perfectly capable of finishing him off, so he kept any anger carefully contained as he continued to speak.

"I should have known. That whole _accepting fate_ rap of yours is _far_ too laid back for a dead chick. But you know, the mother and the body, I'm still trying to figure that one out," Dean stated, pacing as he spoke now while Tessa remained complacent, perched daintily on the side of the bed.

"It's my sandbox," Tessa said patiently. "I can make you see whatever I want."

"What is this, like a turn on for you, huh? Toying with me?" Dean accused sharply, his anger leaking through that she'd been messing with him while he struggled to cling to life.

"You didn't give me much choice," Tessa answered calmly, holding his gaze. "You saw my true form, and you flipped out. Kind of hurts a girl's feelings. This was the only way I could get you to talk to me."

"Okay, fine," Dean said shortly. "We're talking. What the hell do you want to talk about?"

Tessa smiled, though it had a pitying or sympathetic edge to it, Dean couldn't _quite_ tell. "How death is nothing to fear," she said as she rose to her feet. She reached up to place her hand on his cheek, and he was too frozen by, well, _fear_ to move. "It's your time to go, Dean."

Suddenly, Dean shuddered, something moving through him at her touch that scared him. For lack of a better way for his mind to describe it, it felt like she'd just tugged him closer to death, and he felt it in every cell of his being.

"And you're living on borrowed time already," Tessa finished.

Dean pulled away once he got enough of his wits about him, heart hammering with fear and anticipation as he turned to stare out the window into the hall, mind racing.

It couldn't be his time, it just couldn't—he had too much to do, he was needed, by Sam and Deja.

He couldn't go, not _now_.

"Look, I'm sure you've heard this before, but…you got to make an exception. You got—you got to cut me a break," Dean said shakily after several long moments

"Stage three—bargaining."

Dean turned to her again at her carefree tone of voice, staring her down. "I'm serious. My family is in danger. See, we're kind of in the middle of this, uh… _war_. And they need me. And Deja, she…she needs me just to keep it together day by day. She's…damaged in ways I couldn't have imagined."

"The fight's over," Tessa replied in that same even, calm voice.

"No, it isn't!" Dean said in exasperation.

"It is for you. Dean…you're not the first soldier I've plucked from the field. They all feel the same. They can't leave, victory hangs in the balance, but their wrong. The battle goes on without them," Tessa stated, her voice soothing—but it didn't have that effect on Dean.

"My brother, he could die without me. Deja will probably go off the deep end if she loses me," Dean stressed.

"Maybe they will, maybe they won't. Nothing you can do about it." Dean could tell Tessa was going to counter every argument he made no matter who it was about or how much he stressed it, and he turned away from her again, walking past, feeling a strange numbness settle in as she continued. "It's an honorable death, a _warrior's_ death."

"I think I'll pass on the 72 virgins, thanks. I'm not that into prude chicks anyway," Dean quipped, though the heart was missing from the joke. Tessa still smiled gently at him.

"That's funny. You're very cute."

Despite her compliment and his failed attempt at humor, Dean went right back to arguing.

"There's no such thing as an honorable death. My corpse is gonna _rot_ in the ground, and my family, the girl I l—care about are gonna _die_!" Dean said, voice rising to a shout at the end despite his near slip up. He leaned back, determination settling in his gut. "No. I'm not going with you. I don't care what you do."

Tessa nodded like she'd expected this turn of events, stepping closer. "Well, like you said…there's always a choice. I can't make you come with me. But…you're not getting back in your body, and that's just facts."

"Deja's going to find a way," Dean returned firmly without missing a beat.

"She's not going to find anything in time, Dean. I wouldn't be here if she was," Tessa said easily, and although he didn't show it, he felt his resolve waver at that news. He'd been banking on having Deja in his corner at this point. "So yes, you can stay. You'll stay here for years, disembodied, scared—and over the decades, it'll probably drive you mad. Maybe you'll even get violent."

Dean's eyes narrowed, dread starting to rear its head in his gut. "What are you saying?"

"Dean…how do you think angry spirits are born?" Tessa said simply, and Dean sucked in a sharp breath. "They can't let go, and they can't move on, and you're about to become one. The same thing you hunt."

* * *

Tessa had effectively broken down his resolve, and as much as Dean wanted to rail against the fate she was telling him was inescapable, he was starting to see that he really wasn't going to win this fight. As much as he kept fighting it…it looked like he didn't have much of a choice.

Become a ghost Deja and Sam might have to hunt one day if they lived long enough, or go with Tessa. That seemed to be his only options, and it was killing him inside.

So…he'd asked for a little time—not a few days alive again or anything like that, just…a few moments to breathe and…to see someone.

So…he now stood in his room where Sam and Deja were. Deja looked stressed and running on fumes even now, nodding off despite the fact she sat on Dean's bed at his side. Sam was standing at the other side of Dean's bed, looking truly lost.

He could tell they hadn't found anything.

Just like Tessa said.

Tessa lingered in the doorway, watching silently as Sam approached the two people who kept fighting for him even when they had nothing to go on, the two people who hadn't given up on him.

He was still digging his heels in on principle, but he could see where this was going, and it seemed to just…sap the fight right out of him, and he wanted to talk to these two one last time before the numbness settled in and he had to make his choice.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said softly, standing right next to his little brother. "You promise me you can take care of yourself by now, right? And that you and Dad aren't going to kill each other? I mean…it's my job to watch out for you, but you should be able to do that yourself now, too, right?" Dean asked, watching Sam for a few moments, memorizing the person that stood in front of him. He then turned to the woman sitting at his side, making his way around the bed and sitting down beside her, angled so he was facing her.

"You keep an eye on him, okay? You know me well enough to know it's what I want," Dean said in a whisper soft voice. Her he studied every inch of her face alone, a deep yearning building inside of him that might never be sated. "God, we missed out on so much cause of those damn secrets. I should have kissed you when I had the chance…and now…I might not get that chance again."

Dean reached out then, gently brushing his fingers against her cheek. To his shock, there was a little bit of solidness to the motion, and Deja straightened, looking around and lifting a hand to that same cheek. Dean reached out again, trying to run his fingers through her hair, but he couldn't get it to happen again, and Deja dropped her gaze back to Dean's unconscious body, expression thoughtful.

Swallowing, Dean voiced an unfinished thought from right before all this demon stuff spiraled out of control.

"I wish we could just…be, without any of this crap getting between us."

"Dean…" Tessa called gently from her place at the doorframe.

His time was up.

Trying one more time to brush his hand along the back of Deja's and once again failing, Dean pulled himself away, looking at Sam one last time before he followed Tessa out the door, feeling a numbness settle into his bones with every step. He was almost in a daze by the time they returned to the dark, empty room, and Dean sat on the bed, mind trying to process what was happening to him at this very moment. Tessa came to sit beside him and, seeing his distress, started to gently run her fingers through the hair at the back of his head in a soothing motion.

He wished it was Deja.

He wished he could feel her touch again, and with what Tessa was doing right now he wished he could feel her fingers running through his hair again.

He wished he'd taken the chance to kiss her, to be with her, perhaps if he'd pushed it a little more, maybe they could have been.

He wished he could make Sammy laugh again.

He wished he could stay and make sure Sammy survived this damn war against the demon their father had decided to wage no matter the cost.

He wished Sammy had never gotten involved in all of this in the first place and got to have the normal life he'd craved so much.

"It's time to put the pain behind you," Tessa said softly, interrupting his thoughts.

"And go where?" Dean asked, voice cracking.

"Sorry. I can't give away the big punch line." Tessa pulled away, leaving Dean feeling not only the on-setting numbness, but cold and rather alone as well.

And damn it, _scared_ , too.

He was going to die.

"Moment of truth. No changing your mind later. So, what's it going to be?" Tessa asked, and Dean stared at the ground for a few painstaking moments before he slowly turned to look at her, throat closing.

Before he could get his voice to work, the lights flickered, catching both of their attention. Dean rose to his feet first, Tessa close behind him as he stared at her warily. "What are you doing that for?"

Tessa looked at him, her expression genuinely worried, which did nothing to sooth his mounting fear. "I'm not doing it."

They both looked at the vent as something black started to curl out of it, Tessa's back to Dean. "What the hell…" he exclaimed, unable to look away.

"You can't do this!" Tessa suddenly shrieked at the smoke. "Get away!"

"What's happening!" Dean shouted as the smoke started to swirl around her.

Tessa screamed, the smoke surging forward into her through her mouth at a frightening rate before abruptly it was over, the room utterly silent as Tessa just stood there, frozen in a cringe, her back still to him.

Before Dean could form his question in his mind, Tessa turned sharply to look at him, and he was pretty sure his spiritual heart stopped beating.

Yellow eyes.

The demon.

"Today's your lucky day, kid," she— _it_ —told him, and before he could react her slender hand reached out and grabbed his forehead, he felt as if the oxygen had been sucked from his body, everything disappeared...

* * *

Deja let out a scream she was so startled.

She had been sitting at Dean's side, Sam on the other side, when suddenly Dean's eyes flew open and he sucked in a deep breath—or at least tried to, as that was difficult to do with a tube or two or three inside him.

Sam shouted for help, and despite her protests Deja was forced outside the room once the doctors were in, and she had to wait as they swarmed Dean far away from the room because she wasn't family while Sam got to wait relatively close to what was going on.

When they finally allowed her to go back, she ran despite the pain in her leg and her side that had been bothering her since the crash, colliding with the doorframe instead of slowing down like she was afraid someone would try and stop her from seeing him.

Her eyes immediately fell on the open green eyes that had looked up at the sound of a body colliding against the wall of his room, lips parting like he was about to say something, instinctively turning towards her once he saw her.

She couldn't stop herself. The relief was so intense, she was either going to do one of two things, fainting being one. Her mind subconsciously chose the second, and before anything could be said between them she was moving, rapidly closing the distance between herself and Dean's bed.

"Dean," she breathed, voice warped with all the emotions she'd been experiencing since the crash, all piling together and threatening to spill out as once as she reached out to run her hands along either side of his face and felt _warm_ skin with some rough stubble after going a while without a shave, felt his breath puff gently against her own skin in the milliseconds before she sealed her lips against his, kissing first his bottom lip, then top, before angling her head and threading her fingers through his hair so she could kiss both lips full on, feeling her legs go weak from the raging emotions and now the sensation of his lips against hers, soft just like she'd imagined if a little chapped after so long unconscious in the hospital.

At that point, her logical side seemed to tap her on the shoulder and remind her of all the rules she'd set, the lines she'd drawn, and the fact he'd just woken up from near death and she'd just assaulted his face, pretty much. Abruptly she pulled back, staring at Dean with a look of shock she was sure mirrored her own as a hand flew to her lips.

"I—" she started, about to apologize, but Dean cut her off by reaching back and pulling her in for another kiss, returning with an intensity that matched what she'd just given him, both their lips suckling gently against one another, locked in an engagement that had taken far too long to happen. Fingers threaded through hair, neither caring how greasy it felt from not being washed, trading breath, their free hands roaming just a little, with Dean's calloused fingers brushing tenderly from her jaw down her throat while Deja gripped onto his shoulder and let her fingers brush gently across the muscles there every now and then.

This went on for…well, a while—neither of them really knew how long—before someone awkwardly cleared their throat and Dean and Deja both remembered that Sam was right there, their lips breaking away from one another but hands still where they'd been a few seconds ago. He gave them an awkward, tight smile when they looked at him, and Deja laughed breathlessly, turning her attention back to Dean but resisting the urge to attack his mouth again for Sam's sake.

"What happened to all those lines and rules?" Dean murmured, searching her gaze.

"Fuck them—I thought I was going to lose you. I almost did several times, and there were far too many regrets and things unsaid," Deja answered with a slightly shaky voice, wrapping her arms around him unashamedly and getting an embrace from Dean in return, to her pleasure.

"I'm okay, now," Dean assured her, but Deja, knowing him, pulled back, suddenly serious as her sharp eyes searched his expression for a lie.

"Are you really?"

"The doctor says there's nothing wrong with him, everything's just…gone, like a miracle," Sam cut in, coming to his brother's rescue before Deja could accuse him of trying to play tough guy. "Though I'd say he's got a little amnesia, cause he doesn't remember the entire…out of body, reaper ordeal."

Deja turned her full attention back to Dean, several different kinds of worry growing inside her at the news. "You don't remember anything that happened between the crash and now?"

"No, nothing," Dean admitted, though worry quickly crossed his face. "Except this pit in my stomach…like something's wrong."

Before anything could be said, before Deja could voice her concerns or figure out how she felt about this news of Dean's amnesia, for lack of any other way to describe it, there was a knock on the door, and Deja instinctively pulled away when she saw John Winchester standing in the doorway.

 _Now he shows up._

"How you feeling, Dude?" John asked with a faint smile.

"Fine, I guess. I'm alive," Dean said simply. John nodded.

"That's what matters."

Sam, however, was quick to jump on John. "Where were you last night?"

Deja sighed, closing her eyes. God knew they'd been at each other's throats while Dean was unconscious, half the hospital probably heard some of their fights, but for Sam to start a build up to another fight _now_ , when Dean had just woken up…to say she was annoyed was an understatement. "Sam…" she said, her tone coming off as warning, but it seemed no one other than Dean heard her.

"I had some things to take care of," John said vaguely. Sam was quick to point out the lack of details.

"Well, that's specific."

"Come on, Sam," Dean tried, though he clearly didn't have enough energy to play the mediator right now, healed or not.

"Did you go after the demon?" Sam accused, and John just stared at him before giving a short, simple answer.

"No."

"You know, why don't I believe you right now?" Sam asked, timbers of anger in his voice. Dean shifted uncomfortably, though he looked disturbingly defeated at the moment, and Deja lifted a hand to gently rub Dean's shoulder in comfort as John straightened from his spot in the doorway, approaching his youngest without a trace of anger in his posture and expression.

"Can we not fight? You know, half the time we're fighting, I-I don't know what we're fighting about. We're just butting heads. Look, Sammy, I've…I've made some mistakes. But I've always done the best I could. I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?" John said softly, shocking everyone in the room. Sam was so taken aback, all the anger he'd felt a few seconds ago seemed to just evaporate, worry creasing his features as he stared at his father.

"Dad, are you all right?" Sam asked. John's face seemed to have to work for the smile, twitching and almost struggling, as Deja would put it, to form the smile, though it was sincere, and from what she could see it wasn't forced.

"Yeah…yeah, I'm just a little tired," John said before switching the subject. "Hey, son, would you mind, uh—would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?"

Sam didn't look convinced that everything was okay, but he wasn't about to argue after that short speech, so he nodded, slowly getting himself to leave the room. "Yeah…yeah, sure."

John watched Sam go, and while he did, Deja turned to Dean.

She knew a _get everyone out of the room but who I want to talk to_ tactic in action when she saw one.

Gently, she kissed Dean's temple, letting her fingers brush down the opposite cheek. "I'll let you two talk. I'll be out in the hall," she told him in a low murmur before stepping outside a respectable distance where she couldn't hear what was being said inside.

Then she let herself think.

Then she let herself worry.

First of all, she hadn't done anything—Dean's miraculous healing had not been on her part, and it hadn't been Sam's doing either. Not only that, but she doubted such a complete and extreme recovery with Dean being snatched from the clutches of a reaper was the kind of gift that came without some sort of steep price. She might have been willing to chalk it up to prayers answered if Dean hadn't said he had a feeling something was wrong in reference to what he couldn't remember.

And she knew that something wrong wasn't her. She'd thought they'd worked that out.

That was her other worry.

Dean didn't remember. He'd found out, as far as she was aware he'd at least accepted it not to shun her, and he'd forgotten.

He didn't remember that she was a witch. It was still a secret, and she doubted she'd get another chance at such a smooth reveal as this one. Not to mention, she doubted it would go so well if it came out again. This time, Dean had been unable to do anything about it, he'd been forced to think about it and calm down before confronting her, and even then he'd had to listen to her and been unable to talk to her without the Ouija board.

What would happen if he found out at a more explosive time, or when he was armed with a weapon? What would happen if he found out and he didn't want to listen and he walked away without listening?

Dean had found out she was a witch, they'd started to work it out—or he'd at least listened to her—and now he'd forgotten it, and she was back to her basic worry.

 _If_ he found out, would he react like Reid?

Could she afford to risk him finding out again?

The only times she'd told someone who she was, they had all ended horribly, and she was afraid of that same thing happening with Dean.

But she couldn't worry about that right now. That was something to worry about at a later date. Now, her worry was Dean, his recovery, and how he'd been healed in the first place.

John stepped out of Dean's room, a solemn expression on his face and— _Holy shit_ —tear tracks on his cheeks. His gaze landed on her, and despite how out of character he'd been since Dean woke up she still expected him to be gruff and disapproving with her.

John came to a stop in front of her, sizing her up as he'd done many times in the short span of time they'd known each other, and for a moment, Deja wondered if _he_ knew from the look in his eyes.

 _No, he would have shot me without any explanation or hesitation if he knew. That look is…something else._

"You keep an eye on my boys…I'll have no complaints," John said simply, throwing Deja off. It was still relatively gruff, but she also wasn't one of his children, and he still didn't really know her. To further her shock, however, his gruff manner softened with his next words.

"I just want my boys safe," he told her, then glanced back towards Dean's room and back at her with a weak but still knowing smile. "Maybe even happy."

John clapped her on the shoulder and, without any other words or any kind of explanation, walked on.

Stunned, Deja walked into Dean's room, about to tell him she was pretty sure John had given her his own version of a stamp of approval, until she saw the look on his face.

It was scared—utter, raw, fear—a look she'd _rarely_ seen on Dean's face. And there were unshed tears in his eyes that went with the confusion and shock that mingled in with that fear. Instantly Deja was snapped from her daze, at Dean's side in an instant and a hand dropping to her arm.

"Dean? Dean, what is it?" Deja asked, her concern for him in that moment overshadowing everything. Dean's eyes met hers, and she felt like she'd just been hit with the weight of whatever had him so shaken, but she couldn't see what that was.

It was like she'd been hit with a semi-truck of her own, but she couldn't see it.

"I-I can't…Dad, he…" Dean stumbled, his voice hushed as he struggled for words, still reeling from whatever it was. "Somethings wrong with Dad, he's…he's _scarin'_ me…not like when the demon was in him, it's really him but…somethin'…"

Deja sat back, confusion only growing over this entire day…

Before something clicked.

She closed her eyes.

And for Sam and Dean's sake, she instantly started praying to _God_ she was wrong.

Dean saw the look on her face, and she could tell by his voice her expression did not help the fear he was experiencing. "Deja, what is it."

"I…am not sure, I'm…gonna go talk to your dad, just…I'll be right back," Deja told Dean, already standing up and making her way back out of Dean's room and following in the direction John had disappeared.

He'd gotten a ritual for summoning a demon.

Dean was healed miraculously, something very few beings had the power to do.

John had been missing the night Dean was healed.

Dean could feel something was wrong, even though he couldn't remember to say what exactly was wrong.

John was acting like he was trying to say what he needed to before it was too late.

She wished she'd seen it sooner, caught the signs while they were popping up instead of joining Sam—if only silently—in accusing John of doing nothing while Dean lay dying.

 _Please, please, John, don't have done what I think you did. Don't tell me you did it, don't…_

Deja didn't find him.

She wished she'd had, from the sound she heard down the hall, she wished she'd been the one to come across him.

But it was Sam, coming back with the coffee John had requested, that had found him lying unresponsive on the ground in one of the patient rooms.

And the sound that came from him as he called for help was not one she'd soon forget.

Despite that sound of distress, and despite the fact she'd been looking for John in the first place, Deja did not go towards Sam and John. She went back to Dean's room to find him sitting upright and alert in bed, struggling to hurry to his brother's side as he would recognize Sam's voice anywhere under any condition. That was why she went to him, because even though he was healed, he was still weak, and Deja did not want Dean hurting himself when he was freshly healed to get to them.

Without a word, Deja hooked one of Dean's arms around her and let him lean against her, supporting half his weight despite her still-recovering injuries as they hurried in the direction the most commotion was in, knowing that would be where the nurses had taken John.

She didn't share her theory with him, not yet, not as they hurried down the hall to where the doctors were undoubtedly trying to revive his father.

He didn't need that stress. But once he was better, and Deja was sure Sam and Dean were both decently recovered and on their feet after where she was morbidly sure this was going to go, she would tell them, and they'd go from there.

When they reached the door where Sam was already standing, a nurse tried to shoo them away, but Dean cut her off with a vengeance, stating fiercely that John was their father and not clarifying that Deja wasn't a kid of his to get her to back off before watching as the doctors tried CPR.

Deja didn't voice her surety that John wasn't going to make it.

She let them hope however long the doctors were going to try.

"Come on," Dean begged under his breath, and Deja held him tighter, one hand finding his fingers to twine them together and give them a tight squeeze as she prepared herself to catch his full weight.

"Okay, stop compression," the doctor ordered as the flatline continued. A nurse put her hand to John's throat, and Dean's pleas picked up speed even though they remained hard to hear, getting quieter with every second.

"Come on, come on…"

"Still no pulse," the nurse announced, and the doctor said the words that Deja had known was coming, but still hit hard.

Because she knew what it was going to do to Sam and Dean.

 _Especially_ Dean when he found out how and why.

"Okay, that's it, everybody. I'll call it. Time of death, 10:48 a.m."


	25. Chapter 24: Back On Our Feet

**_OhMyGoodness it's been a while. I had to muddle through that middle part over the course of a few months but I'm back on track :D_**

 ** _Really hope Deja's not OOC to anybody, its been a while since I worked on this series._**

 ** _I can't make any promises about updates. Muse, Time, and the fact I have other fanfics to give attention to as well...and college._**

 ** _College is a big thing._**

 ** _Anywho-_**

 ** _PLEASE REVIEW! You guys don't know how much that helps! It does, soooo much!_**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

* * *

Nobody really talked in the days—weeks—after John's death. Not really, anyway. There wasn't any joking or discussing, no plans of action, there wasn't even much visible mourning. All three of them, Sam, Dean, and Deja, all seemed to keep to themselves after his death. Dean seemed to have shut the world out, and most of the time Deja just saw this blank, faraway look in his eyes that told her he was always putting up a front. Who knew what hell he was going through inside—he wasn't about to share. She understood as much. She'd internalized her family's death and never spoken about it to anyone, so she at least understood how he was 'coping'—if it could even be called that—and that John's death _was_ hitting him. He just didn't want to show it was affecting him to anyone. He'd never liked talking about his feelings, digging them up for others to see, and Deja doubted he would do that now with the magnitude of what he was going through. It would affect him, and they would see it affect him, but Sam and Deja weren't about to get a sharing session with him, even if all the internalizing killed him.

Sam was a different story. Where Dean was avoiding any and all talk of John, or rather talk in general, Sam kept bringing up John in between his sudden stretches of silence. He would start wondering about the things John hadn't told them, speculating on what John would want them to do—no matter the conversation, John always seemed to come up with him. And while Sam seemed bound and determined to get everyone talking about John…he never talked about how he felt about John passing. It was like he was making an effort to grieve…but avoiding it.

Frankly, Deja had seen how they were going to grieve clearly at the small hunter's funeral they had given John. Deja hadn't felt like she belonged there, but she was, standing quietly between Sam and Dean as the pyre with John's body burned in front of them…

* * *

 _Sam already had tears slipping down his face, sniffling every now and then, shifting his weight between feet restlessly as he watched the flames before them. On Deja's other side, Dean was perfectly still, no tears making it out of his eyes—yet—and his expression blank, unwavering from the slowly burning body of his father. Not a word had been spoken when they had built the pyre, not when they lit it, and not now as it burned. It was a completely silent funeral, though Deja didn't attempt to put any words into the air—she hadn't really known John, it wasn't her place, and it didn't feel right to speak right now, anyway._

 _Sam suddenly broke the silence, and while Deja turned to look at him, Dean didn't even flinch, nothing to show he'd heard his brother speak even though Sam's words were directed at him._

" _Before he…before he…" Sam choked up and gave up on saying 'died' and moved on with what he was saying, a few more tears making it down his cheeks. "Did he say anything to you? About anything?"_

 _Dean started to turn his head in his brother's direction, the movement just a reflex at being addressed as the next second he was turned towards the fire again. For a second, Deja thought Dean wasn't going to answer Sam._

" _No," Dean eventually said so softly it was hard to hear him. Sam looked at him like he was going to tell him he was wrong, like he was in denial that this had happened without warning. "Nothing."_

 _The truth was, there had been some warning signs, but no one had seen them. Everyone had been too focused on Dean and assumed John was a selfish bastard, no one ever stopping to think, no one giving John enough credit to realize he was doing something so drastic to save his son._

 _No doubt the fact that John died to save him was weighing on Dean's consciousness, just as the fact she hadn't realized what was happening despite her familiarity with demons was bearing down on Deja. But so far, no one had talked about what had happened, and she had the feeling no one was going to talk._

 _Sam nodded, and it looked like Dean's words were a pill he wasn't going to swallow, more tears welling in his eyes. Deja was torn on what to do, who to comfort. She felt like comforting one would leave the other in the cold—Sam obviously needed it, his distress clear in every action, but Dean…it was instinct for Deja to comfort Dean, and his distance and the shut-down look about him was_ his _sign that he was in distress, but he was so standoffish when it came to his deeper emotions she worried he'd pull away if she tried to comfort him. All he'd done since John had died was close himself off._

 _Deja peeked up at Dean just in time to catch a tear making it past his careful control._

 _She'd only seen him cry once before._

 _That changed her mind, as she couldn't simply stand there when Dean had reached the point of distress where he was crying. She reached out with her hand, brushing her fingertips gently across the back of his hand to silently ask if it was okay to offer some small form of comfort._

 _Dean pulled his hand away like she'd stung him, not even looking at her as he shoved both hands in his pockets._

 _That hurt, but Deja didn't do anything more than swallow the emotion that tried to rise at his denial of her offered comfort. She'd known he was shutting down and distancing himself, she understood that—she'd done it herself. She wasn't going to push him._

 _Instead, she reached over and offered Sam similar comfort, hand gently resting on his arm. Sam seemed to gladly take it, allowing her to pull him into a one-armed hug with her head on his shoulder and his head on hers. Dean didn't move from his position or even acknowledge them, still staring into the fire while Sam turned to Deja for some much needed comfort and simply clung to her, his tears wetting her hair…_

* * *

That hadn't been too long ago. Ever since they'd been released from the hospital, Sam, Deja, and Dean had been staying at Bobby's, all of them keeping to themselves and only briefly crossing paths. Bobby and Deja talked a little bit, since they didn't really know each other, but Deja thought she might like the veteran hunter—she did so far. Sam tried to socialize, but his tendency to bring up John in every conversation made Deja uncomfortable, and he went silent more often than not.

Then there was Dean.

He avoided everyone— _everyone_ —and he did it extremely well, coming inside long after everyone was asleep and getting up long before anyone was awake so he could go outside and work on rebuilding the demolished Impala. That was all he did, out there constantly, salvaging parts and slowly putting the car together from the inside out. Deja watched him sometimes—from a distance where he couldn't see, so he could still have the private time he clearly wanted it to be. She would have said it was out of a pure love of that car that his father had given him, his Baby, if she hadn't known it was also his way of coping—or rather, his form of denial. It was how he was distracting himself, keeping himself busy so he didn't have to think about John. It also was an excuse for not interacting with anyone, a way for him to continue his silence and keep his distance.

Speaking of distance, he and Deja had hardly spoken to each other since John had died, and that bothered her. Not only because she cared about Dean and didn't like being shut out so completely, but also because of what had happened right before John had died.

They'd _kissed_ , finally—she'd told him no more boundaries or lines, consequences be damned, and opened herself up to one of the things that scared her most in this world, opened herself to openly caring about someone deeply once again, to caring about another _hunter_ again, of all things—yet since that day they hadn't so much as brushed shoulders, Dean hadn't looked her in the eyes, and had said no more to her than he absolutely had to. They should have done something by now, yet there was no acknowledgement, verbal or otherwise, that they had kissed.

That bothered her deeply, and she didn't think she could handle it going on any longer.

It was time to do something about it, because she couldn't stand to hurt from this distance between them when he was _right there_.

It was about time she worked on the car a few paces from the Impala, the white to it's black, now that Dean had been able to have some time out there by himself. She'd refrained from working on Rosanne because the Corvette had been placed right by the demolished Impala when Bobby had towed the cars, and she knew Dean needed his time, but she couldn't stand not ever seeing him, and she needed to get to work on her car, even though it wasn't nearly as damaged as the Impala had been.

Rosanne would still need some work, and it was the perfect excuse to simply be near him. They wouldn't even need to talk to each other outside of maybe asking for a tool or if one of them had seen a certain part somewhere in the salvage yard.

Pulling on something more suited for mechanic work—a tank, jeans, boots, and her hair in a ponytail—Deja hunted Bobby down in the house, finding him in the library-like study next to the kitchen.

"Hey, Bobby, you don't happen to have anything in this salvage yard that I could use to fix up my Corvette, do you? She's a '74, I figured I'd better start fixing her up," Deja said, hand on the doorframe and leaning into the library.

"There's probably somethin' out there—anythin' specific you need?" Bobby asked, and Deja shook her head.

"I don't know, yet—I'll let you know if I need help finding anything, I just wanted to know ahead of time if there was a chance of finding Corvette-compatible parts. Hopefully there won't be too many serious fixes to make—an' I'm praying she's mostly okay under the hood."

"All right, I'll be here—and hey, there's some beers in the fridge, see if you can get the stubborn one out there to have one," Bobby called before she could disappear, and she doubled back to grab two beers out of the fridge.

"Will do, Bobby!"

The screen door slammed behind her, which would give Dean a little bit of a heads up that someone was outside, trotting easily down the front steps with beers in hand. She crossed the distance to where Dean was working on the Impala in a couple minutes, classic rock playing quietly from a radio he had nearby while Dean himself was buried under the Impala that didn't entirely resemble an Impala yet.

He really was rebuilding her from the ground up, wasn't he?

Deja came to a stop by the radio, looking at what she could see of Dean—in other words, his legs—as the rest of him was buried under the car. "Bobby sent me out with a beer for you."

"Don't want it," Dean's voice said shortly from under the car. Deja shrugged and put the bottle next to the radio.

"It's by the radio when you do," she said. Dean gave Deja no response, so she moved on, opening her beer and making her way over to Rosanne. She took a quick swig of her beer as she slowly circled her car, taking a good look at the immediately visible damage before she started looking for the harder-to-see damage and what was under the hood.

From what she could already see, she'd be out here a while. Not as long as Dean would, but still a while.

"Bobby doesn't happen to have another creeper around here, does he?" Deja asked, looking in the direction of the Impala since Dean himself wasn't visible.

"Check the garage."

Ten minutes of shifting through all sorts of junk and some tools she'd probably need, Deja made her way back with a creeper and a few tools, turning up the music just _slightly_ as she passed so she could hear it too while she worked. Soon she had a small workstation of her own set up, and while she was on the creeper checking for damage underneath the car she could actually kind of see Dean working on his car, since they were on the same level for that brief space of time.

He was staying completely focused on the Impala, ignoring her presence. Not that she'd expected anything else from him for now. This was just a mutual, distant companionship thing she was going for right now. She was there, but he still had his space—she felt like that was the best she could do for him at the moment.

They both worked in silence at first, the only sound the radio and any sound they possibly made while working on their cars, though Deja caught herself humming along to the songs coming over the radio a few times. She stopped herself at first, not wanting to annoy Dean, though after a few times of it happening and him not complaining, she didn't worry about it anymore.

She didn't see Dean stop once to touch the beer, and she didn't catch him looking her way or acknowledging her presence at all. They didn't talk, and she didn't ask for anything, taking the time to find whatever she needed herself for now so that she wouldn't bother or annoy Dean and impede on this alone time of his too much, at least not on the first day. She wanted to be here, but _not_ here.

It was all a tough balancing act right now, but she was going to do her best to make it work.

Eventually, it got dark, and while Dean got up and turned on a few portable lights to keep working before disappearing out of sight again, Deja decided that without any sunlight, it was time to call it quits.

And time to give him some of his complete alone time, again.

Deja debated leaving without a word, stopping by the radio and putting a hand on Dean's untouched beer, thinking about taking it with her.

She decided against both.

"Night, Dean," she said, purposely chopping off the good to avoid any possible bristling from him and dropping her hand away from the beer so that if he decided he might want it tonight, he could still have it without having to trek back to the house.

Maybe tomorrow she'd find an empty beer bottle instead of a full one.

When she came inside—Dean not even acknowledging she'd left—she was surprised to see Bobby waiting for her.

"He say anything to you?" Bobby asked once she was inside.

"Besides _don't want it_ and _check the garage_ , nothing," Deja said with a sigh, making her way to the kitchen and by default the sink so she could wash her hands of the oil and dirt and other mechanical muck before she did anything else, like pull her hair free of its ponytail. "I also didn't expect anything to be said, so I'm not going to stress about it today."

"Kid can't go on like this," Bobby muttered, but Deja shook her head.

"Oh, he can, and he will, until he's ready to go back to whatever he decides is normal for him. I'd know, I'm an internalizer, too. Give him some time, and he'll start talking again. Won't talk about it…but he'll talk," Deja said, drying her hands as she turned to face Bobby. Bobby shook his head.

"He always was a stubborn kid, though if he keeps this bottled up…"

"I know, it's not good, but it's what he's chosen to do, and pushing him to do otherwise isn't going to help," Deja said with a sigh. "I'm gonna head to bed, Bobby, I'm planning on being up early."

"Think he'll talk tomorrow?"

"No, but I think having silent, distant company is a start, and eventually it'll go somewhere," she said pointedly before she made her way past him and up the stairs to the room she and Sam were sharing.

Dean had been sleeping on the couch away from everyone and where he had a quick escape outside if someone tried to get up early enough to talk to him before he disappeared to work on the car.

One thing that drove her nuts about the sleeping arrangements and Dean's patterns, however…was how much it was affecting her time to practice her magic.

She'd been doing good all this time she'd been with the Winchesters, able to keep up with practicing every night she was in the solitude of her motel room or even driving behind them on the road, but now with Dean always in the salvage yard and Bobby and Sam always a few paces away, sharing a room with Sam, Dean downstairs on the couch…

She didn't really have anywhere she could go and practice, and already it was starting to bother her. She needed to practice, needed to keep her abilities sharp and keep building that power. A witch needed to exercise her magic like a muscle, because the more she practiced, the stronger she and the spell became. If her abilities were neglected too long, she would lose power, and her spells would get weaker.

She needed her abilities and spells sharp and effective so that they were useful in the emergencies she used them in. Her abilities wouldn't do her any good if they weren't strong enough to _use_ in emergencies. And going so long without practicing was starting to get to her.

She'd have to work something out soon, or her lack of practice would make a noticeable impact on her skills.

When Deja went into the guest room she was sharing with Sam, she could see he was already asleep—or pretending to. The youngest Winchester hadn't been sleeping well, but she'd let him think she didn't know. Everyone needed time and space right now, Dean wasn't the only exception.

She grabbed a change of clothes, took a quick shower to clean herself off after working on her car today, and then slipped into bed, sleep coming eventually once her brain had managed to calm down enough to stop keeping her up over worries for Dean.

She thought, before she fell asleep, she heard the front door shut. If she did, that meant Dean had come inside to go to bed not long after her.

* * *

The next few days, their cycle continued. Deja went out in the morning to work on her car not long after Dean did, bringing a beer for both of them in the process and, come lunch time, she also disappeared to get something for both of them to eat. For a little while, the silence continued, no words being traded between them while they worked on their respective cars. Dean even tried to be discreet about eating the food she brought for a while, as she would disappear for a part or a tool and return to find whatever she'd brought for him partially eaten in her absence. Once the beer started disappearing, Deja started to leave her tequila bottle and a glass at night in case he needed something a little stronger once everyone was asleep.

Eventually, they did start to talk a little, or at least, Dean acknowledged her presence a little more. When she came out, he didn't make a point to disappear and would turn up the radio a little for her. He didn't hide eating anything she brought out, and they talked a little here and there—nothing serious, just asking for parts or help with a more difficult fix. But still, he was talking, and that was still progress—she even got him to start coming inside when it came time to eat and when it got dark. He even started waiting for her to get up before going out to the car.

But they still didn't talk about the big things. John's death and their kiss still hung in the air between them, and with the distance Dean still was keeping, she was starting to worry that he wanted to continue on like they hadn't kissed, and had even been acting closed off and distant compared to how their relationship had been before, and she didn't know why he would.

She'd need to confront him about that, soon—the kiss, at least. John's death wasn't going to be a topic she pushed.

Now, as it was particularly hot outside, Deja and Dean headed inside to cool down a bit. It wasn't quite time to eat, but Deja was starting to think about it, eyeing the cooking appliances in the kitchen as she and Dean shuffled inside, Bobby and Sam in the library doing who knew what. Well, she could see Sam was tinkering with a phone, but other than that, she had no clue what the other two were up to.

While Dean fished a cold beer out of the fridge, Deja spoke up.

"Hey, Bobby? Would it be okay to use the kitchen?" Deja asked, glancing back at the veteran hunter while she perused what cooking utensils he had. She wasn't about to start snooping through cupboards, though, that was a step too far—this wasn't her home.

Bobby frowned at her. "Why?"

Deja rubbed the back of her neck. She could tell Sam was listening, and Dean was giving her an odd look over his beer bottle. "Well…I can cook. And I wouldn't mind making something here and there for everyone instead of us scavenging at odd hours of the day."

"You've been able to cook this entire time and you haven't said anything?" Dean asked, looking like he found the whole reveal scandalous. She hadn't known it was that big of a deal…

"Yeah, I can cook, but I'm usually perfectly fine with takeout, and not all motels are equipped to cook a meal for three," Deja said defensively. Bobby leaned back in his chair at his desk in the library.

"You've gotta buy the stuff and clean up the mess," he told her, and Deja nodded.

"I figured as much."

"Wait, I've got to know—can you bake?" Dean asked, staring at her rather intently. Deja leaned back slightly at his gaze, eyebrows raising.

"What's going to happen if I tell you my mother ran her own side, independent bakery business out of our home and let me help?" she asked warily.

"You're going to be obligated to make me a pie, that's what will happen," Dean said with a shake of his head, looking back at his beer. Deja straightened, walking past him.

"Well, you're gonna have to ask a hell of a lot nicer than that if you want pie, mister," she said with a sniff. She wasn't that offended by the tone he'd taken, knowing he wasn't meaning for his words to come across the way they had, but she wasn't going to let it slide, either.

She didn't look back to see his reaction, though it sounded like he'd realized he'd misstepped. "Crap, hey—wait! _Please_ make a pie at least once?"

Deja didn't answer him, she just continued out the door so she could head into town and grab what she needed to make something for the four of them to eat.

 _Maybe_ she would get the stuff for a pie, as well.

* * *

When she got back—she'd borrowed a working car from Bobby, since Rosanne wasn't quite in shape for her to drive around, yet—Dean was once again outside working on the car, and since she knew it was going to take a while for her to get…was it almost normal people's dinner time? If so, it was going to take a while for her to get _dinner_ ready, so she didn't bother him, making a beeline for Bobby's house and setting the bags on the kitchen table once she got inside. As she started pulling out the things she'd need, Bobby appeared, Sam nowhere in sight.

"This is all rather sudden of you—any particular reason you've decided to cook today for three grouchy hunters?" Bobby asked, and Deja couldn't help but smile slightly at the way he'd phrased his question.

"I figured with Dean talking again I might be able to get everyone in one place and interacting again. So long as Sam doesn't bring up John in any way, I think we might be able to get through a meal," Deja explained, keeping the stuff for a pie hidden inside the bags.

She'd keep that as a surprise for later.

"That's easier said than done—have you met those two?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, I have—which is why I've waited this long to offer cooking a meal for everyone. Chances are at least one of them will grab a plate and try to retreat," Deja returned with a slight chuckle.

"Well…here's to hoping it works," Bobby said, and with that, he left her alone so she could focus on her cooking.

She was only halfway done cooking when she drew the attention of one of the Winchesters—Sam—who came downstairs to see what the delicious smell was. She'd expected someone to come down once she put her fajita mixture in the skillet—it smelled good.

Sam came up behind her, peering over her shoulder to see what was in the skillet. "That actually smells really good. What is it?" he asked curiously.

"I decided to compromise with your taste and Dean's—steak fajitas. It's got steak and veggies, so everyone's a winner," she said with a small smile, keeping her eyes on what she was cooking as she spoke. Sam moved away to give her space again, leaning against the refrigerator.

"So, how long d'you think it'll be before it's ready?"

"Well, I don't think anyone will have time to gnaw off their arm from hunger, if that's what you're worried about," she chuckled, proud she drew a small smile from the younger Winchester before actually answering his question. "Not long. This is the only part I actually have to cook—you kinda eat 'em like a taco."

"So I should go tell Dean the food's pretty much ready?"

"Yeah, might as well. He'll be in here faster than you can say _food_ , but he can wait a few minutes, it won't kill him."

Sam glanced at what she had sitting on the counter food-wise, shaking his head. "He's going to be upset there's no pie."

Deja said nothing, simply smiled and kept an eye on the food while Sam disappeared outside to go get Dean. She'd hidden her pie stuff in one of Bobby's cabinets and was going to make the pie _after_ they ate.

The slam of the screen door announced Sam and Dean coming into the house, and no doubt drew Bobby's attention, wherever the veteran hunter was at the moment. Within moments they were upon her, namely Dean.

"I smell steak," Dean announced as soon as he walked into the room. He was standing beside her in what felt like the next second. "Sam said it was ready?"

"Pretty much," Deja confirmed, mixing it up a few times before lifting the skillet off the stove and moving to place it on the hot pad on the table where everything else already sat waiting. As Bobby came down the stairs, rounding the corner to come over to the kitchen, Dean was already reaching to dig in. Before he could grab the tortillas, Deja smacked the back of his head.

"Hey! What the—" he immediately complained, though he did retract his hand from the food.

"Wait till everyone's in here and has a fair shot at getting some, you're not eating it all yourself," she chided him. Sam laughed as Bobby reached the kitchen and pointed at Deja.

"I like her," Bobby stated. Dean only scowled, though he obediently waited until Bobby and Sam had gotten some for themselves before digging in, himself. He probably just didn't want to get hit again. Deja got her food last, taking the seat beside Dean.

It was quiet for several long moments, which Deja took as a good thing that meant everyone was too busy enjoying the food to speak.

Predictably, it was Dean that broke the silence.

"This is good, but, um…"

"No, I don't have any pie for you right now, Dean," Deja said before he could even finish asking.

Dean sighed, clearly disappointed. "I added a please."

"Well, it would take me a while to make a pie, so it was either dinner or pie," she said easily. Dean pouted.

"This is good, but I would have preferred the pie," he muttered.

"Quit your complaining—it's good food, just eat it," Bobby scolded him. Sam snickered, which made Dean scowl.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up…" Dean grumbled. Deja kept her mouth shut, a small smile on her face.

The moment was what she was hoping for—that very moment and the easy silence that they settled into afterwards. It was a sense of normalcy, or at least rightness, after all the recent distance.

Now hopefully she could recreate it a few more times.

* * *

She couldn't wait anymore. She was all for giving Dean space and time to work things out, but she had to know where she stood with him again. They were talking again, he had started to interact with the outside world again—if things were going to continue to improve, if she was going to be interacting with him more, she had to know what was going on between them.

It was time they talked about the kiss.

She didn't corner him in the house—she was much more considerate than that. This was a conversation for the two of them, and only the two of them. So, she waited until they paused working on each other's cars to have lunch, playing idly with the beer bottle in her hands before she finally spoke the dreaded phrase.

"Dean…we need to talk."

Dean seemed to freeze like he'd suddenly found himself caught in the spotlight, staring at her for a few seconds before he finally reacted.

And, of course, he reacted negatively.

"Great…" he sighed out, setting the beer bottle down harder than necessary near the still-playing radio. "Just when I was starting to think there was at least one person who wasn't going to ask me if I'm okay, that wasn't going to try and play _shrink_ with me."

Dean paused for a breath, walking away probably in the hopes to end the conversation as he picked a wrench up along the way, headed for the car. He waved the tool in her direction, the motion full of accusation.

"You know, I really wish everyone would stop asking me if I'm okay, and stop treating me like I'm gonna explode at any given moment. I'm _fine_ , all right? I don't need to talk about it—I don't _want_ to talk about it. Why can't anyone understand that?"

Deja waited patiently until his brief rant was over, Dean turning his back on her and kneeling down to start working on some other part of the Impala, probably determined to ignore her for the rest of the day as punishment for prying.

Then she spoke.

"That's not what I want to talk about, Dean," she said quietly. That got his attention, Dean looking up at her with a face shining with sweat and smudged with dirt, dust, and grime. "I'm not going to ask you if your fine or try to force you to talk—I think everyone else has got that covered. Besides, I know if you want to talk, you will. I didn't have anyone when my family…so I'm always willing to listen or just be there if you need it."

Dean looked away again, opting not to acknowledge what she'd said, though it was clear he'd heard her.

That was what mattered. So long as he knew she was there if and when he needed her...

A silence started to grow between them once more, Dean preoccupying himself with the car in front of him. The only sound was the clink of metal against metal while Dean worked before he finally spoke up, his voice gruff.

"What did you want to talk about, if you weren't asking if I'm all right?"

Deja let out a long sigh, trying to think if there was a delicate way to approach something that was on a completely opposite side of emotion than what everyone had been feeling since John died.

She still felt awkward bringing it up, but she _had to know_.

And was there ever a good way to bring up delicate matters?

 _We flirted with that line for so long, why does this have to be so damn difficult?_

"We never…talked about that kiss. Or did anything to acknowledge it ever happened, for that matter," Deja finally managed to get out, her voice soft.

Dean turned away so she couldn't see his face, pretending to be entirely focused on what he was doing.

Well, that just made her feel _so much better_ about the whole ordeal!

"Dean…" she started, ready to have to open herself up even more at risk of being brutally shut down, especially since he was already clearly avoiding the subject.

"…I don't want to be some pity case for you to feel bad for and try to 'fix'…"

Deja bristled at the mumbled words that reached her from where Dean was crouched on the ground, a flash of indignation and even offense rushing through her.

"You think I kissed you because I felt _sorry_ for you?" she asked sharply. Dean remained on the ground, looking unphased by her tone from what she could see of him. Then again, all she could see was his back, as he'd strategically turned away from her earlier. "If I remember correctly, I kissed you _before_ everything happened, right after you woke up. It had _nothing_ to do with _pity_ , Dean."

She was already moving before he even had a chance to respond, or even turn around if he so choose, on the war path as she came around to plant herself directly in his line of sight. At least, it was as good of his line of sight as she was going to get, with him working on the Impala. She leaned against the hood, palms flat against the hot surface as she tried to lock onto his gaze from where he was crouched across from her.

"I kissed you because I _wanted_ to, Dean, and I don't regret it—not for a moment. And frankly, I'm rather pissed you think I kissed you out of pity— _pity_? You _know_ how I feel, Dean!"

Dean rose sharply, the wrench he'd been using clanking loudly on the hood of the car as he nearly mirrored her stance. He looked pissed as well, though there was a light of confused desperation flickering in his eyes as well.

"Then what changed your mind?" he asked accusingly. "If you really meant it, why did you change your mind so suddenly, after everything you said before, after all the times you shut me down? What. Changed?"

"You almost _died_ , Dean. And all I could think of while you were in that coma was _I can't lose him. Not him_ ," Deja shot back, the honest emotion in her words turning her voice raw and causing Dean to lean back slightly from its intensity. "I was going crazy trying to find _something_ that could help you, _anything_! I pulled every string I could reach and I…I kept thinking of everything I wanted to say, to _do_ , that I hadn't because I was _scared_. And I realized I might never be able to do any of it because you were dying, and it _killed_ me!"

Dean was moving now, tense with jaw locked in place as he made his way around the car, probably to leave, but she wasn't done yet, so he'd have to listen a little longer before stalking away.

Deja straightened, ready to follow after him if he had to. He started to walk by her, but she kept going, falling into step just behind him.

"I kissed you because I care about you, Dean, and I don't want to waste the time I spend with you like I have ever again." Dean was shaking his head, _slightly_ trembling hand running through his hair, but she kept pushing. "Dangers and consequences be damned, putting down that line was a mistake. The very first time, I should have—"

Dean whipped around, his hands on her arms stopping her tirade partially from sheer shock at the sudden aggressive motion. The other reason was the fact he'd pulled her towards him and sealed his lips over hers, effectively cutting off her words.

His attitude suddenly clicked in her mind. He'd not only thought that it had been a pity kiss, he'd worried that she would change her mind and want to go back to the distance between them. He'd been keeping his distance and acting like the kiss had never happened because he'd thought that's what she would want, once she'd had a chance to think things over. He'd been trying to avoid getting hurt, to get a jump on her inevitable retreat behind the line once more.

Now he knew he was wrong.

Once her brain caught up to what was happening, Dean was pulling back, probably thinking he might have misunderstood somehow because of her lack of a reaction. Before he could pull all the way back, Deja latched back onto him, one hand threading through his hair while the other grabbed at his shirt. Filthy or not, Deja pulled him back towards her, kissing him back. Dean didn't fight her, lips working with hers, both of them moving with rivaling eagerness and intensity, the tension that had been building up between them from months of working together spilling over, in danger of exploding forth in this one moment.

But not here.

Not now.

She would kiss him—she'd kiss him until she passed out from lack of air—but nothing more for now. They were out in the open, and she was pretty sure neither of them wanted to try for Bobby's house, either. There wasn't anywhere they could go for privacy, at the moment.

So, the kiss would have to do for now. And oh, how she made sure to make it count.

When they finally pulled apart, Dean's arms had fallen around her waist, Deja's hands resting on his neck and shoulder. Both of them were trembling—panting—searching each other's gazes with raw timidity that would seem out of character to anyone who didn't _really_ know them.

But it was a vulnerability they had both witnessed in one another before, one they felt safe showing to one another, under the right circumstances.

Dean's eyes bore into Deja, seeming to disappear past her defenses as he sought one more truth from her.

"No more holding back?"

Deja shook her head. "No more," she promised.

And he kissed her again.


	26. Chapter 25: Much Needed Me Time

**_Please review?_**

 ** _Please?_**

 ** _Enjoyyyy!_**

* * *

While things between Deja and Dean grew more comfortable after their much needed talk, tension between Sam and Dean only seemed to be growing. Sam wasn't talking about John _as_ _much_ , but he had also turned more of his attention on making sure Dean was all right, if Dean needed anything, if Dean was okay—in other words, all the things that Dean did _not_ want to hear and discuss.

Dean hadn't snapped at Sam yet, but it was inevitable, and Deja did not want to be around when he finally did.

More than likely she would be.

As for what she was doing, since Dean definitely did _not_ want to talk about it and seemed to be going through the car repair as a means of therapy, she tried to help in a subtler, not so obvious way. She was simply there for Dean, as she had been in the past, offering him silent support in her presence or a touch when it seemed he was headed for the darker thoughts, or someone brought up John and his demeanor noticeably changed.

When he was irritated, she didn't dare do more than brush her hand against his, or his shoulder—simply because she knew how that macho pride display of his went, and no, he didn't want to share whether he was hurting or not.

Thankfully, she knew he was, and he didn't have to suffer alone. She was there to ease it as much as she could, however she could. Because of that, she stayed close to Dean as much as possible—though still made sure he got some time on his own for the sake of his sanity.

Also, they were no longer just lingering around Bobby's place, watching the Impala slowly come together. Deja no longer had an excuse to go outside while Dean worked on the Impala, as the Corvette was officially fixed and ready for the road again. But ever since their talk, she didn't really need an excuse, did she?

Sam and Dean had also been trying to make sense of John's research on the demon, figuring since he was their dad and they'd known him better, they might be able to make sense of it.

So far, no dice. Which meant it was Deja's turn to look at it, since she was the one with more experience with demons.

She wasn't having much luck either, but she hadn't given up on it quite yet.

John had been an unique man…

None of that was her focus at the moment, however. She tapped her phone against her palm as she approached Dean in the kitchen, working her bottom lip between her teeth. Dean noticed, slowing down and looking at her warily as he pulled a beer out of the fridge.

"You've got that look…what is it?" Dean asked before she had the chance to speak.

Deja let out a soft sigh. "I've got to go on a hunt. I'm probably going to be gone a few days, at least."

The fact that she planned on going on this hunt alone was obvious, by how she'd phrased it and how she was approaching Dean about it instead of just casually telling Sam and Dean she might have a job for all of them.

But this one was one of her personal runs, an attempt for her to keep her past and the other side of her from showing around the Winchesters a little longer, until she was ready—if she was ever ready.

Someone in her network had sent her a text, and she knew she needed to do something now or risk exposure.

Considering the fragile nature of everything going on with the Winchesters at the moment, now was definitely not the best time for Deja's secrets to come out.

Her warning had been in the form of a text.

 _Whispers you're in South Dakota—Iona's got people looking for you there. Hope it's not true—or that you're already gone._

She'd been in one place too long.

Dean didn't waste time in trying to get her convinced not to go alone. "All right, your car's fixed—Sam or I can tag along."

Deja waved a hand. "Nah, you stay and work on the Impala—you're making good progress. Sam can keep working on your dad's research. Those are both far more important than a small hunt."

"I don't like the thought of you going on a hunt by yourself," Dean said bluntly.

Deja tucked her phone away, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and offering a small shrug. "Well, if you remember all those _decades_ ago when we met, I'd been solo for quite some time. I'm a big girl, Dean, and I'm used to hunting solo—this will be me in my element. I'll be fine."

"It's also been a while since you had to hunt solo," Dean countered.

"It's been since just after Chicago. Dean…I appreciate the concern, but I _will_ be okay. It's nothing serious, it's right up my alley...I'll be okay."

Dean studied her, jaw flexing like it tended to do when he was agitated or upset. He opened his beer with an audible _pop_ , casting his gaze down as he relented. "All right…we'll be here. Just check in with us, okay? And if you need help, tell us," Dean said pointedly.

It was only fair to compromise.

"I'll call you once I get there, and then daily afterwards, how about that?" she asked. Dean just hummed, raising the beer bottle to his lips to take a drink. Deja leaned in, pulling one of her hands out of her pockets to rest it gently on his shoulder while she kissed his cheek. Dean kept his head down, though she noticed he relaxed slightly after her kiss, eyes peeking up at her under his lashes discreetly. "It'll be back soon, promise."

With that, she made her way up the stairs, feeling Dean's eyes on her the entire way.

* * *

Dean watched Deja take the stairs almost two at a time, a slight bounce in her hair as it waved back and forth behind her. He almost didn't notice Bobby rounding the corner from his library, an old book in hand.

"She goin' somewhere?" Bobby asked, probably only hearing the tail-end of the conversation.

"She said she's got a hunt she wants to do solo—she's gonna be gone a few days at the most," Dean said, keeping his outward appearance unphased, unconcerned.

When really, inside, he couldn't get rid of the nagging voice whispering _what if_ and trying really hard to give him a mental image of another burning pyre.

He might need more than one beer.

And a lot of alone time with Baby.

Bobby glanced back towards the stairs Deja had disappeared up, then back to Dean, who pretended he didn't notice the weird look the veteran hunter was giving him.

"Be careful with that one," Bobby finally warned, moving to get something in the hallway.

Dean's brows furrowed in confusion, following Bobby down the hall. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not blind, idjit—I've seen how you two've been actin' around each other lately, and you should watch yourself around her," Bobby continued, walking into the living room and grabbing something else, though Dean wasn't paying attention to the things Bobby was picking up as he made his way around the house. Dean was instead focused on the hunter himself, what he was saying, and was entirely ready to jump to Deja's defense if he needed to.

"What're you getting at, Bobby?" Dean asked a little sharper than he meant to, trying not to bristle just yet under Bobby's warning.

"Don't get me wrong, I like her, she's a good girl—" Bobby turned around, locking eyes with Dean to make sure he was about to get his point across. "But she's a good girl that's got _secrets_ , Dean, and in this profession, they're bound to be pretty damn _dangerous_ secrets."

Dean wasn't entirely sure what to say to that, leaning back slightly with mouth open like he was about to reply, but uncertain how to proceed.

He knew she had secrets. Every now and then he got glimpses into her past, into the part of her she tried her damndest not to let him and Sam see, and he knew there was plenty about Deja that he had yet to learn.

Sometimes, he _did_ worry about what he didn't know about Deja—when he saw her darker side, or when he stopped and thought about how much he really _knew_ , and how much he didn't know seemed to be blinding him with its glare.

"She's got her reasons," Dean finally said. It was all he had to offer, and it was what he'd said to himself in those moments he'd wondered why she kept so much to herself. He had to believe that what they didn't know, they didn't know for a reason, and a good one, at that.

Bobby didn't hesitate to shake that foundation, either.

"Don't we all?"

And he had a point.

* * *

Deja didn't try to hunt down the people on her trail in South Dakota. It wouldn't do her any good if they went missing in South Dakota, because it would be a huge tip off that she really was somewhere in South Dakota, somewhere she was staying for an extended period of time and didn't want to be found at.

The people tracking her down disappearing in South Dakota would only draw more attention to Deja. So, she drove south, being careful to leave an inconspicuous trail.

Oh no, she didn't have any cash—she had to use a credit card with an alias _they_ knew about.

She was running low on some of her supplies—best to stop and refill at a store owned by a witch who was known to be a bit of a rat, since it was the only place nearby.

Oh, and don't forget to mention asking if that rat knows of anyone in northern Arizona she can go to if she needs another refill.

So she left her barely there trail of convenient moments of chance that led her tails away from South Dakota. She traveled slow enough she was sure that they would catch up to her before she even made it to Arizona, and after two days of scenic travel, she figured it was time to call Dean.

Deja walked back into her motel room at some backwoods motel in New Mexico after she'd finished moving her stuff inside, locking the door behind her and tossing the keys on the bed. Her phone was pressed to her ear, and she listened to it ring as she drew the shades and did her usual sweep of the room.

The phone clicked, signaling she finally had an answer.

"Hey—I was starting to wonder when you'd call," Dean's voice said on the other end. A slight smile flickered across her face.

"Yeah, well, I had to head east, so…" she lied, a little too easily. She shifted uncomfortably almost as soon as the lie had left her lips.

She hated lying to him. She tried not to do it outright every time—she tried to keep it to just not mentioning everything, or going the old Star Wars route and telling the truth from a certain point of view.

She tried to avoid the blatant lies, because she hated them—hated herself every time she used one when it came to Dean.

None of her strategies really made her feel better about lying to him, to any degree. But she feared how he'd react to her secret more than she hated lying to him, it would seem.

"East, huh? Well, at least I know where to go if you end up needing help."

She couldn't wait till she was back, and the lying could stop…

…for the most part.

"I told you, I'll be fine," Deja soothed him yet again, pulling out one of her books and dropping it on the bed in front of her—the one she wouldn't let Dean see.

Deja opened the book, flipping to the empty pages a little closer to the end and passing spell after spell, scribbled in her own handwriting, with illustrations and lists of ingredients, crystals, instructions on any needed rituals…

Her grimoire.

"That doesn't reassure me at all—you can promise that, but that doesn't mean your hunt is going to go the way you planned. I'm telling you, one of us should've come with you, we would have if you'd let us."

"I know you wanted me to take you with me, but really Dean, I'll be fine," she said, not even bothering with the pretext of Sam and Dean wanting to be the ones who wanted her to bring one of them with her.

It had been Dean who she'd talked to, who had pressed for her not to go alone, and who harbored the stronger feelings for her. She was sure Sam was worried as well, but most likely not as much as Dean.

"What about you two—got any leads on your dad's work, yet?" Deja asked before Dean could continue with the topic of her solo hunting. She sat down on the bed, pulling her grimoire up beside her. She'd wait until she was done with her conversation with Dean to get to work, but for now…

As her conversation over the phone continued, Deja aimlessly twirled her fingers through the air, embers flickering to life and leaping from finger to finger before heating up into small flames. She had to resist letting out a sigh of relief since she was still on the phone with Dean—it had been far too long since she'd gotten to use her powers, to practice, to exercise her abilities.

She needed this.

She needed this time to herself, this _me_ time.

"Actually, we do—some chick named Ellen called our dad a few months ago, apparently, said she could help, so Sam and I are going to see what she had."

Deja's eyebrows rose in surprise, even as she started to flick flames into the air, watching the flames die mid-air before they reached anything that could catch on fire. "That does sound interesting—you'll have to tell me what you found—either over the phone or when we both get back."

"Depends on if she has anything or not. So, you never mentioned what this important job was, you just said you wanted to go it alone."

Deja paused. No, she hadn't really fabricated a story for them other than 'a hunt,' had she? "Witches. As it usually is with me. And if not witches, then demons—though I would mention if I was going after a demon," she added, trying not to sound hasty.

Considering the Winchesters' very recent run in with demons, she knew _they_ knew that demons were no small task, and would probably rather tie her up and throw her in the trunk of Dean's car right now than let her hunt a demon alone.

Now was not the time to go solo hunting demons.

There was a few heartbeats where Dean paused before asking for clarification. "You said you're hunting witches—not demons?"

"Right," Deja said, closing her fist and extinguishing the flames she'd been playing with. "What I'm hunting is witches right now. I was just saying what I usually end up hunting are witches and demons. It's just witches on this hunt," she promised him.

Dean sound significantly more relieved after her clarification. He'd seen her handle witches before—then again, he'd been there to see how intense and difficult it could be, so no doubt there would still be worry.

She didn't mind—him worrying for her meant he cared, and she thought it sweet.

"All right, I guess I can handle that," Dean said reluctantly.

"Well, you're gonna have to, 'cause I bet we're in different parts of the country, by now," she told him pointedly. "Anyway, it's gonna be a long day tomorrow, I just wanted to check in like you asked, hear your voice."

"Aww, you miss me that much already, do you?" Dean teased.

"Haha, shut up, or you'll never hear me say something like it again," Deja countered, rolling her eyes.

"Well, just be careful…and—"

"Call you if I need help, yes, Dean, I _know_ ," Deja laughed. "Good luck with the Ellen lady. I'll call again tomorrow like I promised."

"Looking forward to it."

"Night, Dean."

"Oh! Before you go, I should mention I finished that pie you made not long after you left, so when you get back…"

" _Goodnight_ , Dean."

He laughed at the tone of her voice. "Night, Deja."

Deja rolled her eyes, smiling as she pressed the end button, snapping her phone shut with a small click. She stayed on the bed for a few moments, tapping the phone in the palm of her hand before she tossed it on the other side of the bed, swinging around with her legs crossed on the bed, pulling her grimoire into her lap.

She wanted to work on the new field of magic she'd decided to put some focus into, to work on blazing a new trail for a school of magic that was sadly lacking.

Ever since Dean had nearly died, Deja had been studying healing magic. She'd kept what Rachel had sent her while she'd been frantic for a cure for Dean, going over what she had been given a lot more carefully now that she wasn't under the pressure of someone she cared about dying and could afford to properly study the school of magic she'd had yet to explore.

She didn't want to be so caught off guard again, so helpless as someone lay dying when she had these abilities.

But she knew where to draw the line.

There was healing magic, a decent amount of it, but her problem was that most of the healing magic was _dark_ magic, and only focused on healing one's self. She wanted white or neutral magic, and spells that could be used on one's self or on others.

That was why she didn't have much to work with, something that had convinced her that she needed to do her own study and practice if she wanted to get anywhere. It also meant that she needed more time to develop her skills in the field, though considering she was traveling with Sam and Dean and spending so much time with them, that wasn't so easy.

So, at the moment, her healing magic was developing slower than Dean moved at 5 a.m. without coffee. It would continue to move slowly as well, since it had been a while since she'd last practiced her magic, and she wanted to work on her core spells, her basic spells she always turned to in a tight spot.

She wanted to work on her telekinesis, of course, she believed every which should have a foundation of telekinesis.

She also wanted to work on her fire magic. The magic she considered to be at the core of her abilities.

Deja had always been good with fire—the first time she'd shown her magical abilities she'd started a fire during a temper tantrum. The ability came almost naturally to her, and she'd learned and developed her fire spells faster than anything else.

Deja flipped through her grimoire, just taking the time to go over what lay within, something she hadn't been able to safely do always being around the hunters at Bobby's house. She was reminded of another fire spell she'd been considering practicing, one that might have to be slightly tabled while she worked on healing, and since she didn't have anyone she could test it with, anyway.

Sighing, Deja closed her grimoire, setting it aside and looking over at the tissue box sitting on the nightstand with the crappy tissues, the kind that left your nose burning after using them. She focused her gaze on the tissue already half out of the box, stretching outwards with her powers and envisioning pulling the tissue up out of the box and dropping it on the smooth wooden surface of the nightstand.

It fluttered in an unseen breeze, but didn't move.

Deja grimaced—she _was_ out of practice.

To help the spell along, Deja lifted her hand, flicking a finger up in the air. This time the tissue responded with the physical movement, the tissue ripping upwards and hovering in the air for a second before Deja let it go, letting it flutter to the surface of the nightstand. She dropped her hand again, studying the tissue with a tilt of her head.

With little more than a blink, a corner that was curled into the air caught aflame, the fire slowly eating away at the tissue but not catching the nightstand on fire under her watchful gaze.

Well, at least she could still start little fires without any gestures. The flames on her hand had been a good indicator for that, but it never hurt to check.

She'd have to practice for a while before heading to bed tonight. Clearly her abilities needed worked on, and she would take this time away from Sam and Dean as an opportunity to do just that. Normally, she didn't use her powers for trivial things, but considering how out of practice she was, she'd probably use her magic even to grab things and open and close doors while she was on her trip.

It would work for practice. And so long as she got her practice in, she'd be able to breathe a little easier…

* * *

She was almost to Arizona when they finally caught up to her.

She'd been ready for their inevitable arrival, as she'd been going slow so that they could catch up to her, adding to her preparation little at a time and never leaving a motel room she'd booked until she was leaving the area.

That last one was because she didn't want them to cheat and try to off her with a hex bag—she wanted to force a face to face confrontation, force them to pit their skills against hers.

She was lying on her bed, twirling one of her blades in the air with her telekinesis as practice and working on her telekinetic knife throwing (without putting any holes in the walls) when the protective sigils she'd painted onto her door suddenly burned red hot, some powerful spell burning them away.

It was about time.

Deja snatched her blade out of the air, holding it ready to throw in her hand, not even bothering with the gun as there was a likely chance it would be useless against these particular witches.

The last of her sigil burned away, the door flying into the room, and Deja threw the knife as soon as someone appeared in her doorway, the blade sticking in the intruder's upper right chest. Not in the heart, though, so there was a chance they'd still be a problem.

There was an audible sound of pain, though Deja didn't wait to see what they would do next, leaping forward to grab another knife out of her bag, simultaneously sending her lamp flying at the figure with a knife sticking out of them with a flick of her fingers, right into their head. The second witch pushed past the first, a shout and a wave of his hand sending Deja back over the bed. She grunted as she hit the ground, grabbing the blanket and yanking it violently off the bed. It snapped in the air as the witch who'd attacked her stalked closer, and with a clench of the hand holding a wad of the blanket, fire ripped up the fabric, causing the harmless blanket to suddenly become a fiery mass colliding right into the side of the witch stalking closer to her.

Curses filled the air as the man's jacket and pants caught on fire, the witch trying to put them out before they spread too far. She had him, though—the flames were already on him, and that was all she needed.

Deja sucked in a sharp breath, hand raising and a few words of Latin spilling past her lips as her splayed hand slashed to the side, the flames ripping across his clothes to match the motion. The curses switched to screams as the man found himself ablaze, and Deja, not exactly wanting to see, smell, or hear a man slowly burn to death, rolled back over the bed to find the blade she'd dropped when she was thrown back. It was lying on the floor, and as soon as she saw it she called it into her hand, turning as soon as she felt the familiar feel of her fingers closing around the handle. She flipped the blade around, throwing the blade at the blazing witch with a slightly magic-aided throw, just to be sure. The blade lodged in his neck, silencing his screams as his body keeled over.

Deja hardly had time to clench her fist and extinguish the flames so the room wouldn't catch fire when she was blindsided by the other witch she'd thought had been down, a burning slash up her arm telling her he'd pulled the knife out of his chest and had just thrown it at her, cutting her arm in the process.

A quick glance down told her that no, it had not scratched her, it had stuck in her near the edge of her arm, sticking all the way through.

That was going to hurt like a bitch once the adrenaline faded.

This witch didn't bother advancing, he simply hit her with another spell, sending her flying against the wall and crashing into the nightstand, her breath leaving her in a whoosh. A Latin incantation cracking through the room told her she was about to get another nasty surprise, and sure enough, she felt a stabbing fire rip up her lungs, blood bursting past her lips in a violent, unrelenting cough as he held her pinned to the ground.

She tried to send the chair in the room flying after him, no Latin incantations able to make it past her lips to help her in this situation between the blood and the coughing. She was forced to rely on the spells she could cast without words, the fire and the telekinesis. However, when she tried using her telekinesis the witch lunged forward, trapping the arm against the wall before she could finish the motion. Deja was doubled over, unable to breathe from the blood obstructing her airways, but as soon as he was within her sphere, Deja lurched her head up, connecting with the witch's nose.

He reared back, blood spouting from the hopefully broken appendage, Deja momentarily free from the spell he'd cast on her with his broken concentration and injury. She gasped in just one breath, coughing on the blood in her throat before her hand shot out, latching onto him before he could reel too far away from her.

This spell she needed an incantation for, the words bursting past her lips in a hoarse but still legible rattle, pronounced well-enough for the spell to still take effect.

The witch erupted into flames, shoved back by Deja as soon as the flames had engulfed his body as she shied back. She didn't let go of the spell until he stopped flailing, collapsing to the floor and catching the carpet on fire. She quickly put out the flames before they spread to the rest of the room, and then simply…collapsed against the side of the nightstand, breathing heavily and gazing at the charred body in front of her, the smell not _as_ bad as it could have been with the door to her room gone.

A wave of pain reminded her she had a knife sticking in her arm, and she groaned, closing her eyes and resting her head back against the wall.

She needed to do something about that.

But she had to take care of this mess, first—or at least get out of here before someone discovered the burned bodies and the door ripped off its hinges.

All a matter of priorities—did a literal knife sticking out of her arm, two charred bodies, or putting distance between herself and the scene of a crime matter more to her?

It was moments like this that solo hunting got a little tricky.

* * *

It was harder to do when she was injured, but Deja chose to cover her tracks, first, dragging the bodies out of her room and into the woods near the motel, doing her best to make them disappear before she returned to the motel, grabbed her stuff, and left.

Yes, she drove for a short time with a knife sticking out of her arm, just trying to put distance between herself and the motel before she took the time to stop and treat her wound, as that was going to take a bit of time. Eventually she found a small backroad she could disappear in, pulling off to the side after a few minutes of driving. There, she sat with the door open on the edge of the seat, leaning out of the car to try and avoid getting blood inside.

At least her interior was red.

So far into the unpleasant process—at least after she'd pulled the blade out—her phone rang.

Dean.

Of all the times he could call…

Well, it was going to be worse if she didn't answer. It was better she answered and he find out she was injured and currently in pain than she not answer and he think something terrible happened to her, like death, or capture.

Or death.

Pausing and setting a bloody rag she'd wet down with a water bottle, Deja answered the phone, setting it somewhere where she could hear and talk to him but keep working on her wound.

"Dean…I'd say nice to hear from you, but your timing's a little…awkward," she settled on saying, getting ready to clean the wound now that she had the knife out and had staunched the bleeding a little.

"Why, you in the middle of your case?" Dean asked, and it sounded like if she said yes, he would hang up.

Probably—at least being in the same line of work meant he understood the effort and time that could go into it, and if she said she was busy with the job, she most likely _was_ busy.

"No…case is over. I'm dealing with the aftermath right now," Deja answered, bracing herself as she finally decided to just pour, the burning feeling in her arm causing her to hiss in pain.

"You're hurt?" Dean asked sharply. She could practically feel the intensity of his concerned gaze through the phone.

"Just a bit of a flesh wound, nothing major—and it's far from my heart, so…"

"Don't you Monty Python me—I thought you were going to be _careful_?" Dean accused. "How bad is it?"

"I already said it wasn't anything serious—just a graze with a knife, nothing more," Deja returned defensively, rolling her eyes at the fact he was referencing _The Holy Grail_ as she started seeking out the stuff she needed to get to work on her stitches.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you know what constitutes as a scratch for me. Don't worry, Dean, I'm okay, I'm on my way back to Bobby's right now." Deciding it was best if she direct the conversation elsewhere before he could scold her for getting injured any more, she did her best to divert his attention to another topic. "What about your case—the one you said that Ellen lady gave you while…what was his name…Ash, looked at your dad's research?"

He'd told her about what was happening on his end in regards to the possible lead in the form of Ellen Harvelle the day he'd met them, and had been keeping her updated on how things were progressing in return for Deja keeping him updated on what was going on with her. Though he didn't know just how censored she'd been keeping her escapades when she talked to him, or how much liberty she was taking with the finer details of her hunt.

Thankfully, now that she was done, the excessive lying could stop.

She hated it—hated every minute of it-and as much as she loved her freedom to practice her magic, she missed Sam and Dean, and she missed the honesty she'd been able to have while around them.

She didn't have the luxury of that honesty when she was on one of these hunts, and suddenly, the escape was also a prison built of her own lies.

"Ah, right, the killer clown—you're missing one hell of a case."

"That weird, huh?" Deja asked, starting on her knife wound with needle and thread.

"Weird is one word for it, sure. Sam's having the time of his life."

Deja rolled her eyes. "Says the man afraid of airplanes."

"Says the woman afraid of spiders."

"Those things are a freak of nature, and they all need to burn, but…Touché."

Dean sighed. She could envision him rubbing the back of his head, forehead scrunched up slightly as he pushed down weariness, maybe even stretched.

Damn it, she missed him…

The boys had grown on her—exponentially.

"Anyway, we're closing in on it, so we should be returning not long after you do," Dean was saying.

"I'll be waiting for you."

"With pie?"

Deja snorted. "We'll see."

"Hey, I've earned it."

" _We'll see_."

Dean grumbled some sort of complaint under his breath she couldn't quite make out. "Good enough, I suppose," he relented begrudgingly. "In the meantime—take care of yourself, all right?"

"Dean—I'm fine. It's just a few stitches. I'll see you when you get back."

"Until then."

 _Click._

* * *

For a while, it was just Deja and Bobby at the house when she returned. It was odd, despite the fact she'd expected it, to be alone in a relatively knew place with a person she was only acquainted with because of recent events. And yet, being back at the house brought a sense of familiarity and even some comfort, with the Impala coming together gradually in its spot in the junkyard and little hints of the Winchesters' recent occupancy lying about the house.

She did, in fact, make another pie while she waited for the Winchesters' return, though she gave Bobby the first slice with a comment that went something along the lines of, 'Dean and I are gonna have to have a chat about how this isn't going to be a regular thing.'

Bobby got a good chuckle from that, something that made Deja feel a little proud. She'd made the surly hunter laugh—a milestone.

Though, for the most part, the two of them stayed out of each other's way. Deja would hide herself away inconspicuously whenever she could and practice her magic, since she only had to worry about one housemate instead of three, and Bobby tended to be busy helping other hunters.

Being around to see just how much the man did in one day certainly had her impressed, and gave her a newfound respect for the man.

At long last the boys returned, their arrival signaled by the terrible whine of some junker car they'd probably had to borrow to make the trip, since Dean was still working on the Impala. Deja went out to meet them—of course—following the plume of dust and the rattling noise their borrowed car created to locate them in Bobby's scrap yard. She slowed down slightly when they came into view, Sam and Dean just then getting out of the car.

She could practically see the tension between them, and it made her wary. Something had happened between them on this hunt—perhaps the impending collision between the two over John's death, the one Deja had predicted would happen eventually. Whatever it was, Sam looked like he just wanted to put some distance between himself and Dean, maybe lock himself away somewhere and think.

He didn't ignore her, however. As the three of them approached each other he gave her a nod and a smile only strained by whatever was weighing on him, murmuring a quick, 'Good to see you again' before he continued on and disappeared.

Dean, however, walked right up to her.

Not knowing what had happened, Deja decided it was best to give him a hug either way, giving him a warm smile she hoped let him know she'd missed him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, face burying in his neck with her cheek cushioned on the flap of his favorite leather jacket. She hadn't even finished pulling him close before she felt the warm and welcome weight of his hands sliding across her back and pulling him gently into her, his face in her hair, lips brushing her ear.

"Glad you're back," she murmured, staying in his embrace for the time being, partially because she was very much enjoying it, and partially in case he needed it.

"Nice to see you, too," Dean said as he pulled back, amusement in his tone of voice. Still, there was something in his eyes that made her think that despite the teasing outward appearance, he really was glad to see her again.

Then he spotted the stitches that marked her clearly not _just a scratch_ wound.

"A flesh wound?" he asked, tone a little scathing as he gently took that arm in his hand and lifted it into view between the both of them.

"Wha—it is! It's nowhere deadly or major, it didn't rip open my arm or cause a loss of a limb, it was just a clean cut through, and I've already got it all stitched up!"

"You had a _knife_ sticking through your _arm_!"

"But it's fine now!"

"That doesn't make it any better! A knife sticking out of your body is not _just a bit of a flesh wound_!"

"It is when it stuck there," Deja finished flatly, giving him the best defiant, stubborn pout he could manage. "You just got back, do you _have_ to immediately obsess over my healing injury?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, though he finally released her arm.

" _No,_ you do _not_ ," Deja corrected. "I am here to enjoy your presence, not be lectured for something trivial."

"It's not trivial."

"It is—at least a little bit."

"It's not trivial."

"I made that pie."

Silence.

 _Jackpot._

"You win this round—for now," Dean grumbled as Deja laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder as they started making their way towards the house. Dean put his arm around Deja's shoulders, pulling her to his side in a protective gesture that said 'yes, you win this argument, but I'm not any less worried about you.'

"I'll take it," Deja snickered.

It was good to be back.


End file.
